


Threadfall

by Mawgrim



Series: Fort Weyr - Eighth Pass [3]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Threadfall (Dragonriders of Pern)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28031985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgrim/pseuds/Mawgrim
Summary: D'gar and S'brin, along with their clutchmates, learn about fighting Thread, love and loss.
Series: Fort Weyr - Eighth Pass [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907281
Comments: 46
Kudos: 23





	1. Delivery Duties

Thread fell from the cloudless sky like a deadly rain. D’gar had been close to it many times now, but the sight of the stuff still made his skin crawl. It was vile, alien; an organism that devoured mindlessly and would devastate the surface of Pern if not for dragons and their riders.

He checked the sacks fastened to either side of Herebeth’s fighting straps. Today, he was delivering to ‘C’ Wing. The heaviest, largest sacks were for the bronzes; Tiriorth and Piroth. Just a few sevendays ago, he’d been one of those who graded the stone and filled the sacks. Now he’d moved on to the task of delivering it. This would be his fourth Fall in the new role and he felt as if he was starting to get the measure of it.

Both he and Herebeth scanned all around them as they flew up toward the Wing. ‘C’ Wing were fighting the top level today; the most dangerous of all. They were the first to encounter Thread as it fell and inevitably used more firestone. He was close enough now to see the bright colours of the dragons’ hide and the brighter flare of hot flame. Bits of charred Thread drifted down, sticking to Herebeth’s hide and to his clothes and face.

Delivering replacement firestone was a vital job and the accepted way for young dragons and their riders to become used to the conditions of Fall. It carried its own risks. Not all of the weyrlings who advanced to this stage lived long enough to graduate to a fighting Wing.

D’gar had listened well to the cautionary tales of weyrling pairs who’d inadvertently ridden under the path of falling Thread through a variety of simple - but deadly - mistakes. N’teren had drilled them many times on what they needed to watch out for until they could recite it in their sleep. ‘However,’ he’d added at the end of each lesson, ‘Theory is essential to your understanding but you can’t beat practical experience.’

The Weyrlingmaster’s words rang in his head as Herebeth’s powerful wingbeats drove them up toward the Wingleader’s bronze. There was an art to a successful delivery, D’gar had learned. You tried to gauge the fall of Thread as you ascended, so that you reached the recipient in a clear patch. Your dragon spoke to his dragon, warning that you were on the way. Getting flamed by accident could be just as lethal as being hit by Thread.

_Piroth is ready for us,_ Herebeth said. In the final approach, D’gar unhooked the first sack. He was glad now of all the lifting and throwing S’brin and he had practised. He could handle the heaviest sacks without too much effort. Close enough now, Herebeth matched his wingbeats to Piroth’s while D’gar signalled to R’feem before throwing the first sack across. The Wingleader caught it deftly and secured it to the right side of Piroth’s straps, then beckoned for the second one. His delivery finished he gave a brief wave before heading out toward Tiriorth.

_Thread!_ Herebeth’s warning came almost at the same time as he dived, then blinked _between_ to avoid a twisting clump that had been sent their way from the downdraught of the nearby dragon wings. They emerged a few seconds later into clear air then resumed their approach. D’gar took a deep breath of the foul, char-filled air and willed his heart to stop hammering. That had been close. Still, every Fall there were moments like that, when a second or so one way or another would have resulted in injury or worse. You had to try and be like a dragon; live in the moment and forget the might-have-beens.

_Well done,_ he told Herebeth. _Saved us again._ He wondered if it was due to his dragon’s superior field of vision or something instinctive. He’d tried asking, but Herebeth had replied _I just know,_ yet was was unable to say why. Instinct then; similar to how dragons always emerged from _between_ in the same orientation as when they’d entered it. Or, indeed, how they knew to navigate _between_ at all.

_I look after us both,_ Herebeth responded. _I tell Tiriorth we are on the way. He asks me to hold back while he deals with some Thread._ D’gar watched as the bronze seared a massive clump in one single fiery blast. I’grast glanced across and beckoned him closer, while Belloth, to his right, took up the slack and dealt with a couple of smaller tangles. The blue dragon made tight turns that no bronze or brown could hope to match, proving that every colour had their own skills and advantages.

He threw the two sacks across, then they banked away and went _between_ to the other leg of the inverted V formation, where they delivered another two, smaller bags to green Lilith. Her rider, V’chal, flashed him a smile before tossing back the empty sacks.

_Back to the dump,_ he said, giving a clear visual of the firestone bunker, where they would pick up their next order. _What do we need next?_

Herebeth came back with the answer almost immediately. _Two for Jalolth, one for Belloth and one for Famenth._

He liked the way Herebeth always put them in colour order. It helped him remember the names of the dragons and their positions in the formation. The cold nothingness of _between_ enveloped them, then they were back in warm daylight, spiralling down toward the dump where the newest crop of weyrlings toiled.

‘Two brown, one blue, one green,’ he called out, throwing down the empty sacks as Herebeth backwinged to a neat landing. He watched the crew working, noticing that they hadn’t got it down to as fine an art as his own clutch had perfected. They’d learn, though, just as he was mastering the new tasks he’d been set. He fastened the sacks, making sure they were properly secured. It took a few seconds more, but was worth it to prevent the embarrassment - or injury - that might result if one dropped off and plummeted to earth.

_Zemianth returns,_ Herebeth informed him just moments before the blast of cold air and the smell of burned Thread heralded her descent.

‘Three bronze, two blue, two green,’ S’brin called out. ‘How’s it going?’ he shouted across to D’gar.

‘Not bad. You?’

‘Fine. Guess what. That idiot T’mudra got the sacks mixed up. Really pissed off Z’los, apparently.’

‘F’ Wing’s leader was notoriously short-tempered. ‘At least he hasn’t dropped any.’

‘Yet,’ he snorted. ‘These weyrlings are a bit slow.’

‘They’ll pick up after a few more Falls. Anyway. Better get these delivered. See you later.’

‘Yeah.’

Herebeth sprang into the air, then took them back _between_ to the fighting zone above Ruatha Hold. First delivery was to N’rir, the other Wingsecond. Jalolth was a lighter shade of brown than Herebeth, his hide scarred from the scores he’d acquired over thirty Turns of fighting Thread. Both sacks safely away, he banked sharply to a lower level, well out of the way of any flame, before heading towards Famenth, the second drop.

All of a sudden, an intense feeling of sadness surged through D’gar’s mind. He knew what it meant; a dragon and rider had died. Back at the Weyr, dragons would keen; here in the thick of Threadfall, this was how their sorrow was expressed. It was one of those things that he’d been told about, but not fully understood until now. Practical experience, he thought, wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes from the emotional impact. As it faded, he realised that S’brin and Zemianth were up here today and it might be them who had ridden into a clump of Thread, or made a bad jump _between_ due to pain, or shock. They might already be gone and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Herebeth still flew straight and steady. _Famenth knows we approach,_ he said, reminding D’gar that he had a job to do, whatever might have happened. He concentrated on getting the deliveries done, then, with everyone re-supplied for the time being, made his way back to the landing ground near the dump. Three other dragons had already returned. He recognised Toth and Ganath from Loranth’s clutch, Zurinth from their own. Herebeth landed neatly beside them. ‘Anyone seen S'brin?’ he asked, almost fearing the answer.

‘He’s taken another delivery up,’ K’torl said. ‘Right before you landed.’

D’gar felt a sense of relief. If S’brin had only just left the firestone bunker, then it wouldn’t have been him and Zemianth who died. Relief turned quickly to guilt; someone was still dead after all.

_Zemianth is well,_ Herebeth informed him.

_You could have told me that before._

_You did not ask._

D’gar noticed a grey look to Zurinth’s colour. ‘You all right?’ he asked J’rud.

He gave a brief shake of his head. ‘I saw it happen. That pair who died. It was only two dragons away from my delivery. They’d gone after some Thread and didn’t see another lot coming down on top of them.’ He slapped a fist into his other palm. ‘Just like that. All over. They were hit, went _between_ and never came back.’

Death was a fact of life during a Pass. He’d been aware of it before, but in an abstract way; the Weyrleader reading out lists of names at Turn’s End, drinks passed around in the dining hall after a bad Fall. Now they were seeing the price of fighting Thread first hand. J’rud had probably been lucky it hadn’t been any more gruesome or bloody.

‘You’ll see a few sights like that now you’re on deliveries,’ M’rell said. ‘It’s tough, but you can’t do anything about it. Just watch yourselves so you don’t end up joining them.’

A shadow suddenly crossed the sun and a wash of freezing air chilled them briefly. D’gar looked up to see Zemianth’s familiar silver-green hide as she descended. Even though Herebeth had already said she was all right, he was still glad to see them alive and well.

They got an earlier turn in the baths than those stationed in the dump. Once their straps were removed, Herebeth and Zemianth raced each other toward the lake, eager to wash the char and the smell of firestone from their hide. D’gar and S’brin made their own way into the bathing cavern, together with J’rud, who was still obviously shaken, although trying to pretend that he wasn’t. The riders already splashing around seemed as exuberant as ever after a Fall.

J’rud shook his head. ‘How can they act like nothing’s happened?’

‘If everyone got miserable whenever someone died, the Weyr would be a pretty gloomy place.’ S’brin pulled his shirt off over his head. ‘It’s just how things are.’

D’gar thought he understood. For J’rud, death had suddenly become tangible; close-up and very real. It was another stage they all had to get through before joining a Wing. Once you were fighting, you couldn’t afford to be distracted every time someone died.

‘They’ll give him a good send off later,’ S’brin added, still trying to cheer J’rud up. ‘We’ve seen it happen loads of times.’

Everyone in the Wing would get drunk and remember the rider and his dragon, swapping stories of their life and exploits. If he had a weyrmate who wasn’t in the same Wing, or might not even be a dragonrider, they’d include him or her in the commemoration. Then tomorrow, everyone would nurse their hangovers and the Wingleader would re-shuffle the formations or find a replacement before the next Fall. Life went on.

‘I know how it works,’ J’rud said. ‘Still a bit of a shock, though. This morning, he was alive, just like we are. Now he’s not.’

‘Well, while we’re here, shall we get in the baths before anyone else arrives. There’s a space over there.’ S’brin led the way and they joined some of the riders from ‘C’ Wing in one of the smaller pools.

‘Budge up,’ someone said. ‘Make room for the weyrlings.’

It was V’chal, D’gar noted. After Fall, he always flirted relentlessly. D’gar and S’brin had often watched him make his moves, picking out whoever he was aiming to spend the post-Threadfall evening with.

‘Had a good Fall?’ he asked, getting just a bit too close to D’gar.

‘Not too bad,’ he said; the standard reply. S’brin had gone on ahead, into a deeper part of the pool and he wanted to follow, but V’chal was blocking the way.

‘We were talking about you at the last green meeting.’ A slight smile curled his lips. ‘Saying how well you were coming along.’

‘Me, or my dragon?’

‘Well, both really. Wonder how long it’ll be before he wants to chase greens?’

D’gar shrugged. ‘Not for a while, probably.’

‘Well, if you feel like getting a bit of practise in, I don’t mind showing you a few tricks. You know where my weyr is, if you fancy it.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You were supposed to be polite to wingriders when you were still only a weyrling. ’S’brin and I get plenty of practise,’ he added, just to make sure V’chal understood he already had a partner.

‘Well, you know what they say. Everyone needs a bit of variety in their life.’

S’brin had evidently realised what was happening and swam back. ‘Are you chatting up my weyrmate?’ He stood to tower over V’chal in an intimidating manner.

‘He’s not your weyrmate. You don’t have a weyr yet.’

That was technically correct, but V’chal was just saying it to irritate S’brin. D’gar thought it was also fairly brave of him, as S’brin looked like he could snap him in half if he wanted to.

It worked. ’Not the point, is it,’ S’brin snapped. ‘He doesn’t want you slobbering all over him.’

‘No harm in asking, is there?’ V’chal waded away. ‘If you get tired of him telling you what to do, I’m always available,’ he called back to D’gar.

‘He’s a nuisance,’ S’brin said. ‘It’s folk like him who give green riders a bad name.’

‘Every stereotype is based on some truth.’ V’chal had already moved on to his next choice. Even though he hadn’t been seriously tempted to take up the offer, D’gar felt flattered that V’chal had tried it on with him. It meant he was now seen as fair game, like a proper dragonrider. ‘And I was dealing with it. You didn’t need to save me from him.’

S’brin gave him an odd look. ‘Do you fancy him?’

‘Don’t be daft. You’re much more my type.’ That served to defuse the tension and they went over to join J’rud at the deep end of the pool. Telling him what had happened brought a smile to his face for the first time since Fall ended.

Weyr life continued as normal. The barracks had acquired another twenty-four inhabitants, to replace those who’d graduated to the Wings and now had their own weyrs. Suderoth’s latest hatchlings spent a lot of time sleeping, eating and stumbling over things. One of the bronzes seemed particularly clumsy; he’d knocked over the dung bucket several times and done some serious damage to a fortunately unoccupied bed. The new riders seemed younger and far less mature than he and S’brin had been just over a Turn ago. To get away from all the noise, they’d taken their dragons to the flat piece of ground over by the lake. It was pleasant in the spring sunshine.

‘I can’t believe our dragons were ever that small.’ S’brin oiled a dry patch on Zemianth’s flank. ‘Or that awkward.’

‘Oh, they were.’ D’gar sat with his back against Herebeth’s shoulder. Both of them were enjoying the warmth of the sun and the luxury of a free day with nothing much to do. Along the shore, several other dragons and their riders were also relaxing or bathing, although some of the wing riders had left earlier for a trip to a beach in Southern Boll. ‘Be nice when we’re allowed to leave the Weyr unaccompanied,’ he sighed, changing the subject.

‘That’ll be a while yet.’

Fort’s newest gold dragon, Gemalth, paddled around in the shallows. Her rider, Zalna, seemed reluctant to join her, perching on a smooth rock half way up the shore, her hands clasped around her knees. On Hatching Day, she’d seemed as surprised as anyone when the little gold hatchling had cracked her shell and stumbled towards her.

‘You’d have thought she’d have got used to it by now,’ S’brin said. ’It’s been almost two months.’

‘She’s Holdbred.’ The Weyr came as a shock to many of those who were Searched, although once they became used to the way of life, few left, even if they failed to Impress a dragon. ‘She might be missing her family.’

‘Gemalth’s her family now. Along with the rest of her clutchmates, annoying though they are.’ S’brin ducked under Zemianth’s wing and applied some more of the oil.

Over on the feeding grounds, a green dragon shrieked, taunting her suitors. The sun always triggered a few into rising. Herebeth looked up at the noise, but then he yawned and put his head back down on his front legs.

_Not interested?_ D’gar asked him.

_Why? Should I be?_

He’d been told time and time again that brown and bronze dragons often didn’t mature enough to want to mate until well into their second Turn. Still, there was no harm in asking.

S’brin had evidently seen Herebeth’s reaction to the green. ‘Looks as if he’s unlikely to be chasing Zemianth next time she rises.’

‘How long do you reckon that will be?’ Some greens rose more frequently than others; their cycle could be anywhere between three and five months.

‘Another month, maybe longer. I hope she gives me a bit more warning than before. All this attention I pay her and she doesn’t even give me time to get myself ready.’ Zemianth turned her head around, her eyes whirling contentedly and nudged him gently. ‘She says I’ve missed a bit. Which part of your wing is it?’ He slathered some more oil on as she held her wing low so he could reach it. ‘So, when Herebeth finally does take an interest, do you think he’ll chase Lilith?’

‘I imagine he’ll chase whoever it is who’s first to rise.’ Neither of them could guarantee that would be Zemianth. Besides, male dragons didn’t usually succeed in catching a female for their first few tries. ‘Why Lilith?’

‘The way V’chal was going after you the other day.’

Ah, so that was it. ‘Are you jealous?’ he teased.

‘Course not.’

Except it sounded as if he was. ‘Before Zemianth rose the first time, I really worried you might hit it off with whoever’s dragon caught her.’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Well, then. Why should it be any different for me?’

Before S’brin had a chance to answer, M’rell stepped over Herebeth’s outstretched tail to join them. ‘Hey there.’ he said. ‘I thought that was Herebeth and Zemianth, so I knew you two wouldn’t be far away. Mind if I join you?’

‘What is it?’ S’brin sounded slightly abrupt. ‘We were in the middle of something.’

D’gar compensated for him. ‘We were only talking about mating flights.’

‘Ah.’ M’rell looked slightly embarrassed. ‘That’s what I wanted to ask you about.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Well, Toth’s starting to show an interest in greens. I reckon he’ll want to chase one soon.’

Toth was almost six months older than Herebeth. It would figure.

‘Lucky you,’ S’brin said. ‘And…?’

‘I… er, don’t have much experience in that side of things…’ he trailed off.

‘I thought you and that girl - Rina - were a bit more than just good friends,’ D’gar said.

M’rell smiled. ‘Yes, we are. But… she’s a girl. I’ve never done it with a man.’

‘I shouldn’t worry about that too much. Once your dragon’s got the urge, you won’t have much choice in the matter.’

‘That’s sort of what I’m worried about. I don’t want to be half way out of my head and hurt someone because I don’t know what I’m doing.’

D’gar could see his point there. It was what concerned him about mating flights, too.

‘And I thought that as Toth’s probably going to end up chasing one of our clutch or one of yours, you’d be the best ones to ask. Plus, you two are, well, experienced.’

‘Admit it,’ S’brin grinned. ‘You find me irresistible.’

M’rell rolled his eyes. ‘I might do if you had smaller muscles and bigger breasts.’

‘I’m wounded.’ S’brin pretended to wipe away a tear. ‘Well then, you think D’gar is cute. I know I do.’

‘No offence or anything, but I don’t really fancy either of you. Just thought you might be able to give me some tips. But if you can’t, then I’ll not bother you.’ He started to walk away.

‘No, wait.’ D’gar stopped him. If more bronze and brown riders were that thoughtful, there’d be less green riders suffering the consequences of rough mating flights. ‘I’m sure we can help out.’

S’brin feigned shock. ‘Oh no! You have a secret crush on M’rell.’

D’gar gave him a wicked look. ‘From what I’ve seen of him in the baths, I’d give him seven and a half, maybe eight out of ten.’

‘What?’ M’rell seemed slightly alarmed.

‘It’s just a game we play, nothing to worry about,’ S’brin assured him. ‘It’s a compliment.’ He turned to D’gar. ‘You are such a green, sometimes. I do wonder why Herebeth chose you.’

‘I know exactly why Zemianth picked you.’

The next moment S’brin had him pinned on the ground, sitting astride him. He wriggled a bit, then turned to M’rell. ‘Right then. You’ve got your green. Shall I show you what happens next?’ He started to unfasten D’gar’s trousers.

M’rell looked even more alarmed.’Not here,’ he said. He glanced around. ‘People can see.’

‘There’s something digging into my back,’ D’gar said.

‘Hmm. There’s something digging in to me, too.’ S’brin deliberately ground against him a second time.

While he was distracted, D’gar saw his chance and tried a wrestling move he’d seen some of the older riders do. It worked. He managed to dislodge S’brin and ended up on top of him. Well, for a few seconds anyway, before S’brin used his extra weight to turn it around again. ‘You’re right. This ground isn’t very comfortable. Shall we take this somewhere else.’

‘It’s fine.’ M’rell said. ‘I wasn’t asking for a demonstration, just some advice.’

‘Didn’t you ever listen to N’teren’s lectures?’ S’brin shook his head at M’rell, then carried on in a passable imitation of the Weyrlingmaster’s voice. ‘“It’s essential to understand the theory, but you can’t beat…”’

‘Practical experience,’ both D’gar and M’rell said at the same time.


	2. Close Calls

D’gar was on his third delivery run over Hold Gar. Two more sacks to deliver to brown Norarth in ‘B’ Wing. They were fighting on the lowest level today, although the cloud was low as well, making visibility very poor. He’d flown in murky conditions often enough on patrols and drills but this was different. Thread was almost the same colour as the cloud; difficult to spot. How did the wingriders cope, he wondered, when there were times you could barely see a dragon length ahead of you?

_Experience,_ Herebeth told him. _And my eyes work better than yours in conditions like these._ He’d proved that already a couple of times, turning abruptly and almost stopping in mid-air to avoid Thread. The fighting straps had dug into D’gar’s legs so many times with the abrupt direction changes he knew he’d have bruises.

_Where is Norarth?_ How did Herebeth know where any of the other dragons were?

_He talks to me now._ Evidently that was enough to guide him. The cloud swirled, giving a brief glimpse of a deep blue dragon’s flank before it closed in again. _That was Huranth. Norarth is flying to his right in the formation. I tell him we are approaching._

D’gar didn’t see the Thread; didn’t even know he’d been scored until he felt a sudden burning across his left shoulder and looked over to see the writhing mass. _Herebeth! I’m hit._

Almost before he’d finished the thought Herebeth had taken them both _between_. In the blackness, he pulled the frozen Thread away with his right glove, the chill of _between_ numbing the pain. They burst out into clear air above the Weyr. _The delivery. We still need to make the delivery._

_One of the others will take it. You need treatment._ Herebeth’s calm tone reassured him, even though his shoulder felt as if it was on fire. A quick glance didn’t help; his wherhide jacket had been eaten away and the flesh beneath looked like raw meat. He felt his stomach rebelling and had to swallow hard so as not to vomit.

Herebeth descended in slow spirals and landed softly outside the infirmary. There were plenty of people there and he was soon assisted down. Herebeth turned his head and snorted gently at him. _You will be all right now. There are people to help you._

_What about you?_

_Do not worry. I will stay here and wait._

‘Come on, lad,’ one of the healers said, guiding him gently toward the door. ‘Your dragon’s fine but we need to clean this up for you.’

‘Yes, right.’ All of a sudden, he felt cold. Even though there was nothing wrong with his legs, they were shaky and he had to lean on the healer to take the few necessary steps until he could sit down on a bench just inside.

The last time he remembered being in the infirmary was when he was about seven Turns old and had broken his arm. That hadn’t been a Threadfall day, of course and the place had been quiet and calm. Today it was very different. There were two other men on the bench beside him; one already being treated, the other leaning back with his eyes shut as he pressed a bloody cloth to the side of his face. Two more casualties were lying on the nearby pallets, one writhing and moaning as healers worked frantically. From the glimpses D’gar caught, it looked as if they were taking off the lower part of his left leg. The other casualty was still; drugged with fellis, he assumed, until one of the support staff covered his face over with a sheet and he realised the man was dead. His stomach lurched again and this time he couldn’t stop it. He leaned to one side just in time and brought up his breakfast all over the floor.

The man next to him opened his eyes. ‘Sharding great,’ he said. ‘A puking weyrling is the last thing I need right now.’

‘Sorry.’ His misery escalated by a few levels, made even worse when someone came over, having noticed the mess he’d just made.

She put a bucket next to him. ‘If you’re going to do that again, try and get it in here, all right?’

‘Yes, sorry.’ There wan’t anything left to vomit, but that didn’t stop him heaving another couple of times. The effort of it left him feeling drained, while the pain from his shoulder seemed to become steadily worse. Maybe a bit of Thread had burrowed under his skin and was even now eating away at his muscle and bone? He’d heard stories about that happening. Maybe by the time they got round to treating him it would be too late.

‘Right, what have we got here?’ The healer’s tone was matter-of-fact as she prodded at his shoulder before helping him to get his jacket off. The shirt underneath was ruined anyway, so she cut if off. ‘Get me some redwort, Jenna,’ she called to the other woman, the one who’d brought the bucket.

‘Right-o. Anything else?’

‘Going to have to cauterise this to stop it bleeding.’

Now that his shirt was off, he could see the blood dribbling down the inside of his arm. ‘Is there… is there any Thread still in there?’ he asked cautiously.

She smiled. ‘Don’t worry yourself about that. If there was, you wouldn’t have an arm left by now. So, can you tell me what happened?’ She rinsed her hands in the bowl a few times, then dabbed at the score.

‘I’m not sure. It was hard to see in the cloud. Thread hit me before I even saw it.’

She nodded. ‘Same thing’s happened to a few riders today. And a few dragons. Still, you’ll live to fight another day. Now, hold still.’ With a surprisingly strong grip she pushed his shoulder against the wall behind him. There was a sudden intense pain and the smell of burning. He almost cried out, but managed to stop himself.

‘Good lad,’ she said. ‘Think that’s done it.’ The trickle of blood slowed, then stopped. ‘Right. Numbweed please, Jenna.’

It felt cool and soothing. Within seconds, the pain diminished, then was gone. The healer spent a little while longer cleaning around his score. He ventured another look and was surprised to see how small the affected area actually was, now the blood was gone.

‘Your dragon got you _between_ fast,’ she said as she started bandaging it. ‘So you were lucky. That’ll hurt for a few days. You’ll need to keep it clean and I’ll give you some numbweed. Just put some on if the pain gets too much.’ She stood up and stretched. ‘Sit there for a while, if you need to, then you can take yourself back to the barracks.’

He picked up the remains of his jacket, wondering if it could be mended or if he’d need a new one. N’teren was bound to grouse about that, if he did. He was always complaining that the weyrlings damaged or outgrew clothes far too often. He stood up, carefully, as his legs were still slightly unsteady. No one paid him any attention as he made his way outside, where Herebeth still waited patiently. He raised his head as he saw D’gar.

_You are all right?_

_Yes, I think so. But I need to lie down._

_Lean on me, then._

It took a while to get from the infirmary to the barracks and even longer to remove Herebeth’s straps one-handed, but at last he was done. Herebeth curled up on his couch while D’gar lay down on the narrow bed, not even taking off his boots. He shut his eyes and tried to doze, but each time he was on the verge of dropping off he had sudden flashbacks; the moment when Thread had hit, the panic of trying to get it off, the first sight of his scored flesh. The worst thing was that he knew he couldn’t have avoided it; he’d not even seen the stuff coming at him. So it wasn’t as if he could learn from the experience to prevent it happening again. Every time he and Herebeth went up in the air, they became a potential target and the only thing that protected them were a mixture of reflexes, instinct and a large chunk of sheer good luck.

‘He’s here.’ There were voices at the entrance to the barracks as the other weyrlings returned. D’gar sat up, feeling slightly light-headed. He forced a smile, just to prove he was all right.

‘Zemianth said you’d come back to the Weyr.’ S’brin’s voice betrayed his concern. ‘We looked for you and Herebeth but we couldn’t find you anywhere.’ He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Is it bad?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing much, really. It bled a bit, but they stopped that. I’m numbed up now, so it doesn’t even hurt.’

‘How did it happen?’ J’rud asked, eager for details.

‘It was all so fast I don’t really know. You were up there yourselves. How much could you see in that murk?’

‘Not a lot,’ S’brin admitted. ‘Zemianth got us out of trouble a few times.’

‘We had a few close calls too,’ J’rud said.

‘We flew straight into it,’ he said, reliving that moment. ‘First I knew I’d been hit was the pain.’

‘What’s it like?’ J’rud asked. ‘I mean, I know everyone says it hurts a lot…’

‘They’re right.’ He tried to describe how it had felt. ‘It’s like a burn but worse. It feels as if your flesh is dissolving.’ Which, of course, it was, as the foul stuff ate its way through. He shuddered involuntarily. ‘It’s horrible.’

S’brin hugged him, much more gently than usual, as if afraid that he might break. ‘You’ll be all right.’

D’gar wished he could feel so certain. Physically, he’d heal fairly quickly; it wasn’t a deep score after all. But how could he make himself stop re-living that awful moment? ‘Dragons are lucky,’ he said. ‘They forget.’

Neither of them knew how to reply to that. S’brin settled down next to him. ‘You get off to the baths if you want,’ he said to J’rud. ‘I’ll stay here with D’gar.’

His head rested against S’brin’s broad chest. It felt safe; strong.

‘If I’d have known, I’d have come back earlier.’

‘No, you wouldn’t. You had a job to finish.’ Whatever happened, you needed to keep going. That had been drummed into them all the way through their training. ‘Anyway, Herebeth looked after me.’

S’brin stroked his hair. ‘When you didn’t turn up at the dump, I thought the worst. Zemianth kept saying you were at the Weyr, but that was all…’ he tailed off.

He could only imagine how that must have felt. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault. Sharding Thread! It was crap up there today. I could hardly see beyond Zemianth’s head half the time.’ He still sounded worried.

D’gar started to feel tired again. He shut his eyes, soothed by S’brin’s steady breathing and the knowledge that he was loved. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

‘Don’t those two look sweet…’

A mocking voice pulled him out of slumber. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but most of the weyrlings seemed to be back, so it must be a good hour or so after the end of Fall. Beside him, he felt S’brin stirring as well.

‘What happened? That clumsy dragon of yours didn’t duck fast enough?’ T’mudra dried off his wet hair next to the bed.

‘Shut up. Anyone could have been hit today.’ S’brin sprang to D’gar’s defence.

So did M’rell. ‘Three pairs died today,’ he told T’mudra. ‘And they were experienced. You, me and anyone else who didn’t get scored were just lucky. Maybe we won’t be, next time.’

T’mudra flicked his wet towel dismissively and D’gar felt drops of water across his face. S’brin was on his feet in a second and pulled it out of his hand so fast he went sprawling across the stone floor. He rolled, got to his feet and faced off against S’brin. Zemianth opened her wings, as much as she could in the space available and hissed loudly. Jassainth took up the same stance. Seeing what was happening, the other weyrlings started to cluster around, obviously hoping there would be a fight.

‘What’s going on here?’ The unmistakeable voice of N’teren broke it up before anything even began.

‘It’s that idiot, T’mudra. Again,’ S’brin spat. ‘D’gar’s injured and all he can do is be stupid about it.’

‘He knocked me over,’ T’mudra said almost at the same time, holding his arm as if he’d been hurt.

‘Calm your dragons, both of you,’ the Weyrlingmaster ordered. ‘Everyone else, get on with whatever you were about.’

Zemianth reluctantly settled, her eyes whirling red with anger.

M’rell stayed where he was. ’T’mudra fell,’ he said to N’teren. ‘No-one touched him.’

‘Thank you, M’rell.’ He looked down at D’gar. ‘Got your first score, eh?’

D’gar nodded.

‘You’ll be on support duty here at the Weyr for the next few Falls, then. Until the healers clear you to fly _between_ again.’ He turned to S’brin and T’mudra. ‘You two should know better by now. You should be setting an example to the younger lads, not brawling like a couple of drunken Holders. Dragonriders don’t fight, remember?’

‘Yes, sir.’ T’mudra limped back to Jassainth and stroked her neck.

N’teren glared at S’brin. ‘Is your dragon proddy?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then there’s no excusing your behaviour. Midden duty for a sevenday.’

D’gar saw T’mudra smiling until N’teren turned to him. ‘The same goes for you, as well.’ He stomped out, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Normal chatter resumed as soon as he’d left.

S’brin still glared at T’mudra. ‘Stupid bastard,’ he muttered.

D’gar reached out to touch his arm. ‘Leave it. He’s not worth it. I’d rather you didn’t get into any more trouble.’

S’brin shook his head sadly. ‘Thanks,’ he said to M’rell.

‘Least I could do, really.’

‘Well, if there’s anything we can offer in return.’ S’brin smiled. ‘Maybe another practice session…’

D’gar saw M’rell’s face flush. ‘Er, no. Think I’ve got the hang of it by now. I’d, er, better go and check Toth.’

S’brin watched as he hurried off. ‘So long as Toth doesn’t catch Lilith he should be fine,’ he said to D’gar.

Threadscores took longer to heal than most other injuries. D’gar found it frustrating when the other weyrlings went out on patrols without him. Herebeth exercised himself by flying around the Bowl while he ended up helping his mother back in the kitchens again. Thankfully, she wasn’t one to fuss too much.

‘Next Fall you can give us a hand outside the infirmary. We always need plenty of folk to fetch and carry.’

It was what you did when you were out of action. If Herebeth was a Turn or so older, he might have been called on to assist dragons with wing injuries to land safely, but as he’d not yet reached his full growth or strength, he’d have nothing to do during Fall.

It felt strange, watching all the other weyrlings getting ready and knowing he’d not be up there with them. The younger lads were already at the dump; their dragons sleeping or lounging on their couches.

‘Look after yourself.’ D’gar helped S’brin get Zemianth ready.

‘Should be fine. The weather report’s good. None of that crappy low cloud today.’ He put on his wherhide jacket. ‘Short one, as well, so we probably won’t have to deliver many sacks.’

D’gar pulled him close and kissed him, then watched them leave.

_Zemianth will keep him safe. She is a clever dragon._ Herebeth lay with his head on his forelegs, eyes whirling lazily.

_I have to go and help now. Will you be all right on your own?_

_I have all the little ones to keep me company. If they worry about Thread, I will reassure them._

D’gar was kept busy setting up tables, carrying boxes of bandages and basically doing whatever the healers told him was necessary. He watched the Wings take off in formation, disappearing _between_ as soon as they’d reached a safe height.

‘We shouldn’t have much to do for a while,’ Agarra said, settling herself on one of the benches in the sunshine. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘I do remember what it’s like, mum.’ Before he’d Impressed, he’d helped during Fall, just like all the other weyrbrats. A couple of them were playing with marbles on the ground, while several more kicked a leather ball around. A few injured riders and their dragons sat in a group. One brought out some cards to pass the time.

D’gar rubbed his shoulder. It was starting to itch as the skin repaired itself. Last time he’d had it checked, the score still looked nasty, but they’d assured him it was quite normal. He watched Suderoth fly up to a position on the rim. Her rider, Tirelle, sat to one side on a comfortable chair, her feet up on a padded stool. Her belly was starting to swell quite noticeably as her pregnancy advanced, so it wasn’t deemed safe for her to continue flying in the Queens’ Wing. Still, it was always useful having a spare gold dragon on support duty. Her size and strength enabled her to assist the largest dragons, if they were in difficulty. Her natural authority meant that she could also quieten injured dragons still while the healers worked on them.

‘I saw S’brin this morning. On midden duty again.’ Agarra raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s he done this time?’

‘Nearly got into a fight.’

She tutted. ‘He’ll have to learn to control that temper.’

‘He’s a lot better than he used to be.’ Impressing a dragon had definitely had a calming influence on him.

‘Are you two still going to get a weyr together once you’re in a Wing?’

‘I hope so. Mind you, that’s a long way off.’ They’d have to wait until Suderoth’s latest clutch were mature enough to take over their delivery duties before they could hope to move on. ‘Besides, we’ll be everyone’s last choice.’

She frowned. ‘Not still worried about that, are you? Most people appreciate what you two did to help Valli.’

‘Some don’t though.’ It wasn’t his imagination, the glances they got from some people, or the way they always seemed to be last in line for anything except punishment chores. If he hadn’t been scored, he had no doubt he’d have been put on midden duty as well.

A couple of the riders looked up from their game, alerted by their dragons, no doubt, just before a blue dragon emerged from _between_ , flying erratically above the Weyr Bowl. His right wing had obviously taken the full impact of a clump of Thread and was reduced to mere shreds of hide. Within seconds, Suderoth took to the air. It was fascinating to watch as she carefully manoeuvred herself beneath the stricken dragon, allowing his weight to rest on her broad golden back as she brought them down to a carefully controlled landing. The rider, who seemed untouched, jumped off right away as dragon healers sprinted across to assess the damage.

‘Hey, you! Weyrling.’

D’gar looked up as one of the healers called to him.

‘Fetch those splints and bandages.’

He hurried to comply. A couple of the older riders brought pails of antiseptic redwort and soothing numbweed. The dragon remained calm despite his injury, or maybe that was just Suderoth exerting her mental control to keep him still.

Up close, D’gar winced at the extent of the damage. He’d seen injured dragons before, of course, but having been scored himself now, he realised how nasty it was. He marvelled that the blue had been able to fly at all, or think to get himself and his rider back safely while crippled and in pain.

The healers knew what they were doing and worked quickly to get the remaining hide cleaned and numbed before commencing the fiddly and painstaking work of reassembling the wing. D’gar handed up splints of varying sizes as they were requested. An older healer sat himself atop an ‘A’ frame ladder and carefully used pieces of fabric stretched between the wing spars and wooden splints to create a framework for the remaining skin. D’gar had seen it done before, but never in such close detail. New skin would grow to replace that which Thread had eaten away. There was a good chance this dragon would fly again, although maybe not with the same degree of precision as before.

The rider seemed more distressed than his dragon, alternately hovering at the blue’s head, then watching the healer’s progress with a kind of horrified fascination. A couple of the others took pity on him and encouraged him to drink from a flask which obviously contained strong spirits. After a while, he sat down, head in hands. D’gar put himself in the man’s place, imagining how awful he’d feel if Herebeth had suffered such injury. The only thing that made it bearable was that the blue appeared fairly oblivious to what was being done to patch him up.

While he was busy, a few more dragons came back, none so badly hurt as the blue. One or two riders limped or were carried through into the infirmary. Their dragons remained outside, their eyes showing the yellow of worry, normally bright hides dulled to a greyish hue.

He heard a few comments. ‘Bad up there today. Big clumps, falling erratically.’ Although his hands were occupied, his mind wasn’t. He hoped all of his clutchmates - even T’mudra - would be taking care and that none of them ended up hurt, or worse.

He’d been watching the healer work for some time when Suderoth suddenly bugled an alarm. She launched herself into the air, the powerful downdraught from her wings sending up a flurry of dust. D’gar followed her flight path to see a brown dragon - almost the same colour as Herebeth - plummeting from the sky. Although his wings seemed unharmed, it looked as if he was unable to use them. Suderoth flew to intercept, but for some reason, she didn’t take the weight of the stricken dragon on her back as she’d done previously. Instead, she grasped him with her claws, her huge wings spreading wide as she slowed their descent toward the floor of the Bowl.

It seemed as if everyone held their breath, watching, yet unable to help. Tirelle struggled to her feet, clasping her hands over her belly as she gazed up toward her dragon, her face showing the strain Suderoth must be feeling as the ground rushed closer.

Even with the queen’s help, the brown dragon landed heavily. His rider was slumped over his mount’s neck and looked to be badly scored down his left side; the side facing away from them all. As soon as they’d landed, Suderoth leapt away, shaking herself. Tirelle ran, as fast as she was able, toward her.

Meanwhile, the brown quivered and slumped as if his legs could no longer bear his weight, wings flapping feebly to either side. The other riders on support duty rushed over, evidently intending to assist the rider. As they reached the dragon most turned away in horror. D’gar saw one man vomiting, another struggling not to do the same. One of those least affected drew his belt knife and sliced through the fighting straps that still secured the rider to his dragon. He pulled the man off, carrying him across his shoulder back toward the infirmary. The brown dragon groaned; D’gar had never heard such a terrible noise from any creature before. He rolled over, revealing a great gaping wound in his left side, green ichor puddling all around as he writhed in agony. That was when D’gar noticed something moving inside the body. Thread, growing in size as it devoured the poor creature’s innards. He had no idea how such a thing could happen. Even the healer, up on his ladder, paused in his work to watch.

‘Flamethrower,’ someone called. ‘Quickly!’

The dragon tried frantically to make his wings function; to get into the air and go _between_ D’gar assumed. Why had the cold of _between_ not killed the Thread in the first place? He’d been told enough times that was all you needed to do, if you were hit. He didn’t want to look and yet at the same time he couldn’t turn away. In a last attempt to free himself, the brown lurched forward, wings outspread. At that moment, the Thread devouring him must have reached some vital organ, for he collapsed. D’gar saw the light of life leave his eyes at the same instant as Suderoth began to keen, joined a few seconds later by all of the other dragons remaining at the Weyr. The sound set his teeth on edge, made him want to howl with them. In his head, he could feel Herebeth’s reflected pain at the loss of one of his kin.

The dragon was clearly dead, yet the mass of Thread continued to grow. Two riders, armed now with flamethrowers, ran toward the body. The whoosh of the igniting gas and the bright flare of flame forced Suderoth and Tirelle further away. The weyrwoman clung to her dragon as the smell of burning Thread - and worse, burning dragon flesh - filled the air. D’gar felt his stomach rebel at the sight and the awful stench as smoke blew toward him.

Everything happened very fast. Suderoth must have become distressed or distracted and forgot about the blue dragon. He shied abruptly sideways, tipping the ladder. The healer jumped as it toppled. There was a blur of movement. D’gar felt the weight of the dragon push him over. He rolled into a ball, instinctively, feeling new pain in his partially healed shoulder. He shut his eyes, thinking how stupid it would be to die like this, at the Weyr itself, not even on his dragon.

Then, suddenly, it was over. He opened his eyes cautiously to see the blue dragon was now well away from where he lay. The healer had landed close by him and opened his own eyes at almost the same moment. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked the man.

He sat up cautiously, brushing dust off himself. ‘Think so. You?’

D’gar did the same. ‘Yes.’ Smoke was still blowing around. He gingerly felt his shoulder. It hurt a little worse than it had before, but nothing a bit of numbweed wouldn’t put right.

‘Come on, then. Let’s get this repair finished.’ He climbed to his feet and gave D’gar a hand up as well, turning him away when he started to glance toward the burning pile of what had once been a dragon. ‘Best not to look, eh.’


	3. The New Weyrwoman

D’gar got back to the barracks later than most of the other weyrlings. Support duties finished well after Fall ended, as you were expected to help clean up the infirmary and pack away unused supplies. He knew that he’d be asked about the incident; no-one could have failed to see the remains of the brown dragon on the Bowl floor and Weyr gossip would already be filling in details, true or imagined.

He spent a few minutes with Herebeth first. His dragon’s colour had dulled in response to the death. Although he tried not to, D’gar’s memory kept dredging up vivid and gruesome images. He tried as best as he could to block them, but Herebeth picked them up anyway.

_You could not have helped him._

_I know._ It had been a horrible way to die. Usually, if a dragon was fatally scored, they just went _between_ and never came back, just as they did if their rider died. He knew that the dead dragon’s rider hadn’t survived either. When he’d been taking pails of numbweed back to the store, he’d seen the man’s bloody remains lying on a pallet.

_Doesn’t it bother you?_ he asked Herebeth.

_I am sad he died. But we have to fight Thread. It is our purpose._

‘Are you all right,’ S’brin’s voice was soft as he put an arm around D’gar.

‘I’ve been better.’

‘They all want to hear about it. I’ll put them off, if you want.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Maybe telling the story would purge it from his mind.

The other weyrlings were gathered around the long table where they usually sat for lectures. Most of the older riders, from his own and Loranth’s clutch were quiet, while the youngsters nudged each other, eager to hear the gory parts. He couldn’t blame them; he’d once have been the same. They made a space for him and crowded round as soon as he’d sat down.

‘Something bad happened today,’ he said. ‘I know I’m going to have to talk about it, so you might as well hear the truth from someone who was there than the gossip from folk who’ve only heard it third hand and made up what they don’t know.’ He told them the bare facts; the dragon falling to earth, slowed by Suderoth, the rider’s rescue, the awful moment when they saw that Thread was growing inside the dragon’s body. ‘He died very quickly,’ he said, even though when he’d been watching it hadn’t seemed nearly quick enough.

‘How could that happen?’ J’rud asked. ‘I thought _between_ killed Thread.’

‘So did I. Maybe it had got too far inside by the time he went _between_?’ Exposed Thread froze fast, but if it was shielded by the warmth of a living body, then perhaps enough of it could survive. Even a small piece of Thread would soon multiply, given enough organic matter to feed on.

‘Did his rider die too?’

D’gar nodded. ‘I saw the body in the infirmary.’

‘Best thing, really,’ V’sil said. ‘No-one wants to live without their dragon.’

When D’gar had been small, there had been a rather sad, scarred older man who’d helped in the kitchens. He’d wondered how someone from the support staff had managed to get such bad scores and had been told the man had been a dragonrider and that his dragon had died. Everyone went out of their way to treat him kindly and tried to include him in conversations, but he’d always seemed slightly distant. He’d disappeared at some point; D’gar never found out if he’d left the Weyr or decided to join his dragon _between._

‘He looked pretty bad by the time they got him off.’ Perhaps the rider had died at the same moment as his dragon? Or maybe the man’s death had been what triggered that final effort the dragon had made to get off the ground?

Most of the weyrlings cleared off when they realised they weren’t going to get any more details from him. J’rud and S’brin stayed, sitting either side of him.

‘It’s a shock, isn’t it?’ J’rud said kindly. ‘Seeing someone get scored is bad, but nowhere near as horrible as seeing a dragon die right in front of you…’

D’gar had never enjoyed the feeling of being drunk, but he understood now why some of the riders spent the evening after Threadfall sinking back enough alcohol to numb their senses. ‘It makes it all real,’ he said, trying to describe how he was feeling. ‘I mean, we know people and dragons die during Fall, but we don’t think about it most of the time.’ All of his clutch had made it through training so far, but it was inevitable that sooner or later one of them would be careless, clumsy or just plain unlucky. ‘It could have been someone we knew, or even one of us.’

‘Don’t say that,’ S’brin said. ‘None of us are going to die any time soon.’

‘We don’t know that for sure. We like to think it. But I’ll bet that rider today felt certain he’d be having dinner tonight and chatting with his friends, just like he’d always done.’

J’rud nodded. ‘That’s how it is. Death happens, out of the blue. Bang, and you’re gone.’

Silence fell for a while until S’brin broke it with a nervous laugh. ‘We shouldn’t talk about it too much. No point in making ourselves miserable.’

D’gar knew he was right. He’d give anything not to have seen the incident and he really wanted to be able to forget about it. He just couldn’t.

‘How about we go to the kitchens and see if your mum will give us some sweet rolls fresh from the oven?’

‘Maybe.’ D’gar didn’t really feel like eating, but it was something to do.

‘Come on, then. If you’re there with a face like that, she’ll definitely take pity on us.’

The gruesome death had affected everyone. Even the kitchen workers seemed subdued as they went about their tasks with far less banter and laughter than usual.

‘How are you feeling,’ Agarra asked, with a fair amount of sympathy.

‘Not too bad, now.’

‘It wasn’t a pretty sight,’ she agreed. ‘Not seen one as bad as that for a while. You lads sit yourself down and I’ll fetch you something nice to eat.’

S’brin glanced at D’gar and mouthed, ‘Told you.’

Agarra brought a platter of sweet biscuits and cakes back from the warming oven. ‘There you go,’ she said, passing them around. ‘I’ll take five minutes before I have to get on with prep for dinner.’ She sat next to them. ‘I remember when I first came to the Weyr. Seventeen, I was. Pregnant too. Not with him.’ She gestured toward D’gar. ‘He was later. But I was an embarrassment to the family and they didn’t want me around. No chance of marrying off spoiled goods, my dad said.’

‘Holdbred attitudes,’ J’rud slurred through a mouthful of cake.

‘Well, yes. I came here because I’d heard they’d take in anyone. I knew my way around a kitchen already and they were glad of the help…’

D’gar had heard her story a few times before. He nibbled on a biscuit.

‘When you grow up in a Hold or Craft, it’s a different world,’ she said. ‘We’d learned about what dragons did to protect us but it wasn’t until I saw the results first hand that I really understood. I remember seeing a young man, only a few Turns older than I was, with a leg missing. Another with a badly scarred face. It shocked me. And seeing the injured dragons was even worse. I’d never thought about dragons getting hurt, before. I used to cry after every Fall, with the state of some of them. But that’s how it is at the Weyr, isn’t it? Thread’s got to be stopped or none of us would have any sort of life.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you’re all going to see your share of nasty sights over the next few Turns. You’ll feel bad about it, but you’ll get used to it, too. Like I have.’

J’rud nodded. ‘When that pair died in front of me, it gave me a real turn. But I guess the next time, it won’t be so bad.’

‘What happened today is rare,’ Agarra continued. ‘That’s why it’s hit us all hard. But life has to go on.’

‘Any chance of another sweet roll?’ S’brin asked, hopefully.

‘Get off with you,’ Agarra aimed a good-natured cuff at him. ‘You’ll spoil your dinner. Pity I can’t get my son to eat as well as you do.’ She picked up the empty platter. ‘I’m proud of you all, doing what you do. Ordinary folk might not know the ins and outs of it, like weyrfolk do, but they’ll still respect you and give you your due.’

‘Your mum’s great,’ S’brin said, later. ‘She really cares for you.’

S’brin’s foster mother had been too busy supervising the maintenance crew to pay her children much attention. They were fed, clothed and given a good understanding of how all of the Weyr’s complex systems functioned, but once they’d got old enough not to need her, she hadn’t taken much interest in their lives. Agarra was different. Although D’gar happened to be her child by birth, he’d been brought up the same as all of her fosterlings. There had always been plenty of love and cuddles. ‘Agarra’s all right,’ he said.

‘It’s a pity women can’t Impress, except for golds. She’d have been good with a dragon.’

‘They did, way, way back.’ He’d read about it in some of the oldest records. ‘Women used to ride greens as well.’

‘Really?’ S’brin sounded surprised. ‘Bet those mating flights were popular with the bronzes.’

Male dragons chased females whenever they felt like it. If their riders ended up with a partner who wasn’t the gender they normally preferred, that was just tough. But D’gar thought it was probably one of the reasons why green riders sometimes ended up hurt.

‘Talking of which, Zemianth’s starting to take an interest in other dragons. She did last time, but I never thought anything of it. I reckon it’s one of the signs she’s getting closer to rising.’

‘How close?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s what I can’t be sure of. Maybe another sevenday? Maybe longer.’

‘It’ll still be too soon for Herebeth.’

‘He’ll mature quickly enough. Look at Toth. Suddenly, he’s taking an interest.’

‘Maybe he’ll chase Zemianth?’ D’gar hoped he would. At least M’rell was a friend.

‘Probably won’t catch anyone the first time. Although Zemianth likes browns and bronzes. She says they can carry her a lot further than a blue when they’re mating. So when Herebeth’s ready, she’ll be happy.’

‘I’ll be happy too.’ Not that there was anything wrong with their sex life. Just that he wanted to be able to share in those special moments. He remembered Valli telling him how good it could be, when you were still caught up in the dragonlust following a flight but had regained enough of your own senses to know who you were with and what you were doing.

S’brin glanced at him. ‘I haven’t had a chance to wash yet. Do you fancy going to the baths now? Bet we’ll have the place to ourselves, more or less.’

‘Good idea. I need to clean up my score anyway. And put some numbweed on it.’

‘Go and fetch it, then. Just don’t get the numbweed mixed up with that other pot on the shelf or neither of us will have much fun for a while.’

A few days later, D’gar was walking back from the infirmary. The healer had told him he’d be fine to go _between_ again and that there was no reason he couldn’t return to active duty. As he passed, he couldn’t help but notice the charred patch of ground where Branluth - that had been the dragon’s name - had died. It was sunny again; summer was definitely on the way and quite a few dragons were taking advantage of the weather to sun themselves. Dragons were a lot like felines, he’d often thought. They loved to soak up the sun, yet at the same time, their thick hides protected them from the chill of _between_ and they certainly didn’t seem to be affected by cold to the same extent as their riders.

_The sun is pleasant,_ Herebeth said, picking up on those portions of his thoughts that were interesting to a dragon. He’d found himself a place on the fire heights, next to Toth and Zurinth. The older dragons had already grabbed the better spots; weyrlings had to make do with what was left. Suderoth’s clutch, who were still too young to be able to fly to the heights, were clustered around the north shore of the lake, trying to track what little sun was getting to the floor of the Bowl so early in the morning. As he strolled back toward the barracks - there was no hurry as this was a rest day - he noticed Gemalth making her ungainly way down the track. Zalna walked alongside, braiding her long chestnut coloured hair into a thick plait. Two more steps and the young queen tripped, catching her wing tip with one of her front talons. She sprawled on the ground, making a slight whimpering noise. Zalna abandoned her half-braided hair and tried to untangle her dragon. D’gar couldn’t help but smile. It was so typical of young dragons: that clumsy awkwardness. The larger their eventual size, the worse they seemed to be. He’d untangled Herebeth from similar messes many a time.

‘Do you need a hand,’ he offered. Zalna would be overwhelmed by the panic of her dragon and probably couldn’t work out the difference between her own arms and Gemalth’s forelegs right now.

‘Please.’

‘Can you ask her to stop struggling for a moment.’ As soon as Gemalth stilled, he could see the problem and it only took a few seconds to sort out. She scrambled to her feet, furling her wings neatly against her flanks as if to say, ‘if I put these here that won't happen again.’

‘She keeps on doing that,’ Zalna said. ‘Is there… is there something wrong with her?’

‘Of course not. All young dragons are clumsy.’ Surely she’d have learned that in the weyrling classes? But then, he remembered gold riders didn’t attend many classes with the rest of their clutch. They were supposed to learn from the other weyrwomen. Mardra, however, wasn’t the most approachable of people and Tirelle, being pregnant, had her own problems.

‘Are you sure about that?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Well, I know Herebeth was falling over his own feet for a good four or five months after he hatched. It’s perfectly normal. You should ask N’teren if you don’t believe me.’

She made a face. ‘He keeps telling me I should speak to Mardra. But every time I try to ask her something she looks at me like I’m a tunnel snake she’s found in her weyr. How am I supposed to learn anything?’ her voice rose slightly in frustration. ‘It’s all right for you folk who grew up in the Weyr. You understand how everything works around here.’

He felt a bit sorry for her. Although she was one of Suderoth’s clutch, she was set apart by having Impressed gold. ‘Why not ask me, then?’

‘Is that proper?’ She glanced around. ‘I mean, should I even be talking to you alone?’

He’d forgotten for a moment that she was Holdbred. ’This is the Weyr. No-one cares. Anyway, I’m not a bronze, so you don’t need to worry that I’ve got ulterior motives.’ He flicked his shoulder knot. ‘Besides, my weyrmate would get upset if I tried anything on with you.’

‘Your weyrmate? Is she jealous, then?’

‘Not usually. But he knows I’m not attracted to girls that way.’

Her eyes widened slightly. Another facet of Weyr life she must still be getting used to. ‘Oh. I see.’ She recovered gracefully. ‘Does he have a dragon too?’

‘Yes, a green. Hatched at the same time. Shall we sit in the patch of sun over there?’ He pointed to a slight rise in the ground. ‘Then you can ask away and Gemalth can sunbathe. You’ve probably noticed dragons do that a lot.’ He led the way, waiting for them to catch up, only then realising that she probably wouldn’t want to get her dress dirty. ‘Oh. Maybe you’d prefer to go over to that bench instead?’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Despite what my clutchmates might think, I’m not too stuck up to sit on the ground.’ She sank down, tidying her skirts as she did so. Gemalth settled beside her. ‘What’s your name?’

‘D’gar, Herebeth’s rider.’

‘And where’s Herebeth right now?’

‘Up there,’ he pointed to the fire heights. ‘He likes the view.’

Zalna sighed. ‘I wish Gemalth could fly.’

‘She will. You just have to be patient. You might have noticed she’ll do little hops now and then and spread her wings. It’s how they build up the flight muscles.’

‘That’s usually when she falls over.’

‘It happens. When Herebeth first started to fly properly he took a nose dive into the lake.’

That got a laugh out of her. ‘How old is he?’

‘Getting on for a Turn and a half now. For a brown, that means he’s more or less fully grown. He’s just got to fill out a bit more and build up his strength. I suppose they’ve told you gold dragons take longer to mature.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve picked up a few facts here and there.’

D’gar carried on. ‘She’ll probably not fly until she’s a Turn or so. There’s a lot more dragon for those wings to lift, after all.’

‘All she does is eat and grow. I never realised there was so much washing and oiling to do.’

‘That’s the downside of having a bigger dragon. But it’ll be worth it when you finally get to fly on her.’ It always took his mind back to his first flight on Herebeth, Valli and Kadoth looking on. ‘And in a few Turns, she’ll start having clutches of her own and you’ll be as proud as anything watching them learning to fly themselves.’

Zalna looked down, a slight flush blooming on her cheeks. ‘After she mates, you mean.’

‘Well, yes. They have to mate before they can lay eggs. But that won’t be for a good while yet. Suderoth didn’t rise for the first time until she was nearly three Turns old. And as we’re getting toward the end of the Pass, none of the queens will be rising so often. Although Loranth’s overdue.’

‘Someone told me about mating flights,’ she said quietly. ‘When I saw a green rise for the first time. I didn’t know what it was about.’

‘Green flights are nothing. Just wait until one of the queens rise. You’ll be able to stay here and enjoy it being as Gemalth’s still too young to be affected.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Queens are very possessive about their mates. When one rises, the others have to leave the Weyr until the flight’s over, in case they fight. But chances are Loranth will mate again before your Gemalth can even fly.’

She considered this for a moment. ‘In the Hold, people said everyone at the Weyr… well, that you all…’ Her blush became deeper.

D’gar worked out what she was too embarrassed to say. ‘You mean they told you we all have a wild orgy when the dragons mate?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘It’s not compulsory,’ he joked. ‘I mean, gold dragons broadcast their desire fairly widely, so you’ll definitely feel like it, but it’s resistible, if you don’t want to. When Suderoth rose last time I ended up helping my mum peel vegetables in the kitchen. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve been told you shouldn’t have sex with anyone while Gemalth’s young, in case it confuses or upsets her.’

She gave a little nod. ‘One of the few things Mardra did tell me.’ She paused again. ‘You’re all so… so open about it. It takes some getting used to. My mother would probably have fainted at the mere idea of sex.’

‘She must have done it at least once, or you wouldn’t be here.’

That got a smile from her. ‘What I mean is that no-one ever told me anything. “Well brought up young ladies shouldn’t think about things like that,” is what they’d have said.’

‘It’s definitely not like that in the Weyr. So, you mean you’ve never had a boyfriend?’

‘Well, I was betrothed to be married before I was Searched.’

‘Oh. Were you very much in love with him?’ Maybe that was why she looked so sad a lot of the time.

She gave a little laugh. ‘It wasn’t about love. It was about land. When the dragons came on Search, my family were torn between pride at me being chosen to go to the Weyr and annoyance that they might lose out on a good deal.’

Being married off like that sounded much worse than any mating flight. At least when it was over, you had a choice about whether you wanted to have sex with the person again. ‘Did they? Lose out, I mean.’

‘No. My younger sister’s going to marry him now.’

‘You’ll have a better life than that here,’ he said, feeling he should reassure her. ‘I know a lot of our ways seem strange right now, but you’ll soon get used to them. And as a weyrwoman you’ll have as high a status as any Lady Holder.’

‘I know. I’ve just been feeling a bit lost. I mean, Impressing Gemalth was wonderful.’ Her face took on the soppy expression a lot of people got when they remembered that special moment. ‘It’s just I haven’t really had anyone to talk to, since I arrived. The lads from my clutch are so young.’

It was traditional for weyrwomen to be older than the boys when they stood on the Sands, mainly so they could handle the responsibility of the position. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

‘Nineteen Turns. You?’

‘Sixteen. Well, almost seventeen, now.’

She looked surprised. ‘I thought you were older than that. You seem a lot more mature.’

‘I’m old before my time, folk say. Or that I think too much.’

Her eyes went unfocussed for a moment as she spoke with her dragon. ‘Gemalth’s getting impatient, I’m afraid. She wants to join the others at the lake, so I’m going to have to go now. But can I see you again? There’s so much more I’d like to ask.’

‘Any time. Just get Gemalth to bespeak Herebeth and he’ll let me know.’ He helped her to get to her feet.

She brushed dust from her skirt as Gemalth began to rush off with the all the energy of a baby dragon. ‘Wait for me, silly,’ she called, running to catch up. ‘Don’t get yourself in a tangle again.’

By lunchtime, it was getting hot. Most of the weyrlings grabbed food from the dining hall and took it outdoors to eat. D’gar and S’brin settled down to one side of the landing area. They were soon joined by J’rud, T’kes and R’chol.

‘Hot today,’ R’chol commented.

‘Really. I hadn’t noticed.’ J’rud always liked to joke, but today his response seemed more annoyed than humorous.

‘What’s up with you? Feeling proddy?’ R’chol responded.

R’chol’s Carainth had risen just a sevenday previously and last time, Zurinth hadn’t been too far behind, D’gar remembered. He glanced up at the fire heights. All three dragons were still lying up there in the full glare of the sun, but against the bright sky it was impossible to tell if Zurinth’s colour had intensified.

J’rud gave R’chol a dirty look. ‘If D’gar was feeling irritable, no-one would say he was proddy. So why should it be any different for a green rider?’

‘Just saying,’ R’chol protested. ‘So, how’s Zurinth feeling?’

J’rud obviously asked her. ‘Don’t know. She’s asleep.’

‘Stop squabbling and eat your lunch before anything else does,’ S’brin said, cutting slices from a meat pie with his belt knife and trying to keep the flying bugs away at the same time.

‘Yes, mum,’ D’gar said, ducking instinctively as S’brin threw a pickle at him.

T’kes caught it deftly and stuffed it in his mouth. This prompted a game in which everyone tried to catch different foodstuffs in their mouths. Quite a lot ended up on the ground, amid laughter and shouts.

D’gar noticed a couple of older riders watching them, shaking their heads in disapproval. ‘Tone it down a bit, lads,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to get into trouble.’

‘Any more trouble,’ T’kes said pointedly, looking at S’brin. ‘Just finished midden duty, haven’t you?’

S’brin nodded. ‘And just in time. It’ll be getting pretty ripe in this heat.’

‘I really thought you were going to clobber T’mudra,’ R’chol said. ‘Pity N’teren stopped it when he did.’

‘Probably a good thing for T’mudra,’ S’brin said. ‘One of these days he’s going to push me too far.’

M’rell and K’torl came over to join them. ‘We could hear you lot from inside the dining hall,’ K’torl said.

‘Wondered what we were missing.’ M’rell flopped down, then prodded D’gar in the ribs. ‘Toth says he saw you with Zalna this morning.’

‘What?’ K’torl looked round. ‘You didn’t tell me that,’ he accused M’rell.

Everyone looked at D’gar. ‘I just helped her untangle her dragon, that’s all. Then we had a little chat.’

‘What’s she like?’ K’torl asked.

‘A bit shy. Still getting used to Weyr life. She’s nice,’ he finished. He wasn’t going to tell them what they’d been talking about. That was between him and Zalna.

‘How come you get to talk to the pretty girls,’ M’rell said. ‘You don’t even like them.’

‘That’s probably why,’ S’brin put in. ‘They know they’re safe with D’gar. Not like you two.’

‘That’s not fair,’ K’torl protested. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.’

‘Well, talk to her then,’ D’gar said. ‘All of her clutch are so much younger, she’d enjoy some company closer to her own age.’

‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’

D’gar shrugged. ‘Start with dragons. It’s something you’ve got in common.’

‘Yeah, you can tell her you’ve got a big bronze.’ M’rell suggested. ‘Ask her if she wants to stroke him.’ He and K’torl started laughing.

‘That’s really going to impress her,’ D’gar said. ‘Don’t forget she’s been properly brought up.’

M’rell carried on laughing. ‘We can soon get her out of that.’

‘I give up,’ D’gar said to S’brin. ‘How do these two jokers ever get any girls to take them seriously?’

‘Who knows? Mind you, M’rell’s got some hidden talents.’

‘True,’ D’gar agreed.

‘Hey!’ M’rell started to look worried as K’torl glanced at him inquiringly, but any further questioning was averted as J’rud abruptly said. ‘I feel weird.’

‘It’s that pie,’ T’kes prodded at the remains of what was on the plate. ‘I thought it tasted funny.’

‘Not sick. Just…’ J’rud looked up towards Zurinth. ‘Shells! She’s going to rise.’

‘What, right now?’ R’chol asked.

J’rud nodded. His eyes became glazed as he linked minds with his dragon. He opened his mouth as if he was trying to speak, but no words came out.

‘Better get him to the flight cave.’ S’brin was always practical. He and R’chol helped J’rud to his feet. D’gar shaded his eyes and looked up to where Zurinth, now wide awake, was sitting back on her haunches, glaring at the other dragons around her.

_Herebeth? Are you…?_ He saw Herebeth dodge as Zurinth wheeled around, almost lashing him in the face with her tail.

_I am trying to get out of her way._ Herebeth said. _She is not herself._

That was one way of putting it. It also told him that Herebeth wasn’t interested in chasing her. Toth, however, was a different story. He was sitting up as well, watching Zurinth’s every move. M’rell gazed up towards his dragon, eyes wide.

Zurinth shrieked, attracting the attention of several other male dragons. Herebeth launched himself from the heights and circled down into the Bowl. As he descended, a few other dragons took wing, landing at a safe distance as Zurinth continued to taunt them.

T’kes nudged D’gar. ‘Think we’d better get M’rell over there, too.’

M’rell had the vacant look of someone whose mind wasn’t where it should be. D’gar helped him up, wondering if he’d be affected as badly when Herebeth finally took it upon himself to chase a green. Together, he and T’kes guided him into toward the flight cave. A few other riders were hurrying toward it as well. D’gar recognised H’sal. Trust him to be there when it was a young dragon about to rise.

Above them, Zurinth gave one final, piercing shriek before she sprang into the air, her suitors in hot pursuit. T’kes gave M’rell a friendly push into the cave, just as S’brin and R’chol emerged.

‘Well, that was unexpected. Must be all that sun,’ S’brin said.

‘Is Zemianth…?’ D’gar worried that the weather might trigger her into rising too.

‘No, she’s the same as ever today.’

‘Is he going to be all right?’ D’gar tipped his head toward the cave.

‘He’ll be fine.’ R’chol seemed unconcerned. ‘M’rell’s about to have his first flight too, I see.’

‘Yeah, he was in a daze so we thought we’d be kind and make sure he got here,’ T’kes said.

‘Well, nothing else we can do now,’ S’brin started walking back. ‘Might as well finish our lunch.’

It wasn’t a particularly long flight. Generally, it was only when greens blooded their kill, like a gold, that they had sufficient energy to fly very far. They’d barely finished eating before the losing riders made their way out of the cave. D’gar was glad to see H’sal was one of them. So was M’rell, but he didn’t re-join them.

‘Probably off to find Rina,’ K’torl said. ‘Now he’s got himself all worked up.’

‘So who caught Zurinth?’ R’chol asked.

S’brin had been watching the riders exiting the cave. ‘I think it must have been Jekkoth. I’ve not seen G’reden come out.’

‘Good for him, then. That’s the third time Jekkoth’s chased, but the first one he’s caught.’ R’chol finished up a piece of fruit. ‘We’ll have to have a drink later to congratulate him.’


	4. Complications

Over the Weyr, it was another one of those bright, early summer mornings. The weather report from Ruatha wasn’t so good. Fog, they’d said. Most of the wing riders were grimly subdued as they prepared for Fall.

D’gar and the other weyrlings handed over their first sacks of firestone to the wing riders as they assembled in the Bowl. It helped him take his mind off thinking about later, when he’d have to replenish the stocks in mid-air. Even though he tried to stop it, he kept on remembering the moment he was hit, the last time he flew during Fall, interspersed with the more recent images of Branluth’s unpleasant last moments.

‘Not going to be good up there today,’ one of the grizzled older riders said to a wing mate as he passed by.

‘Sharding fog.’

His stomach felt unsettled. He’d tried to eat some breakfast, but food had lost its appeal today. All around him, dragons were noisily crunching firestone. The sound of their teeth grinding the rock set his own teeth on edge. Normally, his dragon’s moods echoed his own, but Herebeth’s enthusiasm for getting back in the air made him feel inadequate.

Lots of people get scored, many of them much worse than I did, he thought. They just get back on and ride Fall again with no fuss. I have to do the same.

He handed out another couple of sacks, noticing, as he did, the various little rituals riders carried out before mounting up. One man walked twice around his dragon, pausing briefly by each leg. Another traced the old scars on his cheek absently, while muttering something that only he could hear. Leanna, who worked in the kitchen, ran up to her weyrmate and gave him a long kiss. All of them believed these things would keep them safe, presumably because it had worked for each previous Fall when they’d come back unharmed. Branluth’s rider had probably thought the same before that fateful day.

The Weyrleader’s Wing took off in perfect formation, ascending to the level of the rim before going _between_ as one. D’gar stood to one side, watching the riders mount up, the checks they made, the determination reflected on faces. That was how he had to behave. He’d Impressed a dragon and he had a duty to protect Pern. If that meant pain and maybe even death, that was just how it was.

_We are not going to die,_ Herebeth assured him. _We are young, fit and strong._

_You are a good dragon. I’m not a very good rider. I feel scared._ He wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, but there was no point trying to hide it from the one creature who knew the turmoil in his mind.

_You must be brave. We have a job to do. And I dodge very fast._

He smiled. Herebeth would look after him, as much as he could. _Come on, then. Let’s get ourselves ready._

It wasn’t so bad, waiting at the dump. The sun was warm enough that they’d hooked their jackets on the straps. D’gar listened to the gossip and even joined in with some of it. Maybe the fog had cleared over Ruatha by now?

‘First orders coming through,’ N’teren announced. ‘B’ Wing - J’rud and M’rell, ‘C’ Wing - T’mudra and K’torl, ‘F’ Wing - D’gar and R’chol. Get yourselves ready.’

He pulled his jacket back on. His stomach had been relatively calm, but the thought of what was coming set it churning again.

S’brin came over. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Feel a bit sick, that’s all,’ he admitted.

‘You’ll be fine.’ He watched D’gar fumble with the fastenings of his jacket. ‘Come here. I’ll do that for you.’ As he did, he leaned close and whispered all the things that would be waiting for D’gar when they got back.

D’gar couldn’t help but smile. ‘Is that a promise?’

‘You bet.’

The younger weyrlings were already handing out colour-coded sacks. Herebeth crouched down to allow him to mount. He pulled on his gloves, then took a deep breath. _We can do this._

_Of course we can._

Loaded with sacks, they took to the air. _Sassilith first,_ Herebeth said.

_That’s the bronze, yes? Wingsecond?_ He could never remember the rider’s names as easily as their dragons.

_You are right. I have the visual now._

_Let’s do it, then._ Bright sunlight was replaced by the blackness of _between_ , then they emerged into the grey murk over Ruatha. Still foggy, then. D’gar felt his muscles tense as he flinched from what he thought was Thread to his right, but turned out to be just swirling cloud. _I hope you can see where you’re going,_ he said to Herebeth.

_I know where we are going but Sassilith tells us to wait._

The smell of charred Thread and phosphine from the dragon’s flame was all that indicated the Wing’s position until they were almost alongside the pair. D’gar unhooked a sack and threw it across. Sassilith’s rider - Z’tul, that was his name - caught it deftly, then after securing it to his own straps, beckoned for the other. Delivery done, they banked away and Herebeth set a course for the next delivery, dodging through a cloudscape of white, grey and the occasional silver strand of Thread. A vague glow gave away the sun’s presence. D’gar fervently hoped it would manage to burn off the fog before too much longer. He tried to imagine how difficult it must be for dragons to fight Thread in such conditions.

_A lot of Thread is getting through to the lower levels,_ Herebeth commented. _It cannot be helped._ D’gar felt himself thrown sideways as his dragon swerved abruptly. _What was that for?_

_Did you not see Thread?_

He hadn’t, but Herebeth’s comment got him staring more intently into the dense fog. There were several times that he anticipated a dodge when Herebeth kept flying straight ahead and twice more when he was caught unawares by a sudden change of speed or direction. Eventually, they arrived at their next delivery drop alongside blue Mayarth. Two more sacks away and the empties stashed ready to drop back at the dump. _Who’s next?_

_Midoroth. Then we return for the next load._

Herebeth flew surely through the cloud, beneath ‘F’ Wing. It was the safest way to move between riders; most of the falling Thread would have been caught by the dragons above. _Sun’s brighter now,_ D’gar commented. Occasional glimpses of a wing, tail or a flank assured him they were still keeping to the right course. Tiny droplets of moisture had condensed on the rough fabric of the sacks and on Herebeth’s neck in front of him. Char drifted down almost continuously, sticking to everything. Just as he’d begin to relax, he’d spot Thread’s deadly glint, setting his heart racing again. He kept anticipating an impact that never came; the fierce burn of it eating his flesh, or worse, tunnelling into Herebeth’s body.

All of a sudden a diving green dragon plummeted down in front of them, flaming furiously. Herebeth had to backwing frantically to avoid her and lost a fair amount of height before he could recover his momentum. D’gar’s stomach lurched yet again. _What was that?_

_That was Diakath. She says sorry. She did not know we were there._

He felt his heart slow again. Thread wasn’t the only danger up here. _Make sure Midoroth knows where we are. We don’t want to get flamed by accident._

_I tell her now. She is ready for us._

They delivered the final two sacks. Coming back to the Weyr in brilliant sunshine was a shock. Herebeth landed and he called out the next orders.

‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ one of the weyrlings grumbled.

‘I’d like to see you try and do the job as well.’ D’gar swilled out his mouth with water from his flask and spat out a mouthful of foul char. ‘Weather’s not like this over Ruatha.’

M’rell landed close by. ‘Four bronze, two brown,’ he called out, throwing the sacks down. ‘We nearly got flamed,’ he shouted across to D’gar.

‘We nearly got hit by another dragon.’

‘It’s shit up there.’

D’gar nodded in agreement.

_Zemianth returns,_ Herebeth announced as a shadow across the sun announced her arrival.

S’brin was swearing as he called out his orders. ‘Sharding moron dropped both sacks.’

‘Who?’

‘Sharding F’gil. Had the nerve to say I wasn’t close enough.’

D’gar hoped they hadn’t hit anyone on the way down. ‘It’s hard to see up there.’

‘He’ll have problems seeing when I punch him later on.’

One of the weyrlings passed him a sack. ‘Everyone makes mistakes now and then.’

‘He’d better not try to blame me for it. I’ll throw the next lot right at his sharding head.’

D’gar secured the first sack, then grabbed the second. F’gil was a young rider who’d only joined the Wings a few months back. ‘He’s probably as rattled as any of us in conditions like these. Give him a break.’

‘So long as he doesn’t drop another one,’ S’brin grumbled, although he was clearly calming down.

‘Hurry up with those sacks!’ The Weyrlingmaster’s voice boomed out, sending a couple of weyrlings scurrying over, barely able to lift the bronze tagged sacks up to D’gar.

He fixed them in place. ‘Right. Off for a second drop. See you later. Don’t forget what you promised earlier.’

’S’brin flashed a smile. ‘Looking forward to it.’

He went back up four times. The fog only began to clear as trailing edge went over. Apart from the continual worry of riding into unseen Thread, the emotional shockwave following the death of two pairs left him shaken. When they finally returned to the Weyr Bowl, the queue of dragons and riders outside the infirmary was long and even though none of them were his clutchmates or friends, he still felt unsettled.

‘Come on,’ S’brin said, taking off Zemianth’s straps, which he dumped on the ground. ‘Let’s get a quick bath, then we’ll be able to spend a couple of hours in the usual place.’

D’gar saw to Herebeth, then as the two dragons flew off to clean the char from their hides in the Weyr lake, followed S’brin quickly to the bathing cavern.

It was only when they were in the water that he realised how hungry he was. Nerves had meant he couldn’t eat much before Fall and his stomach was growling. ’I’m going to nip to the kitchens first to get some food. See you down there?’

S’brin smiled, ‘I’ll be waiting.’

He hurried across. If he was lucky, they might have just taken a batch of meat rolls out of the oven. He could pick up a jug of klah and a few cakes, too. S’brin would appreciate that.

There was a queue of freshly washed riders waiting their turn to get into the dining hall. D’gar dodged round them into the kitchen, getting a few glares. The advantage of having a mum who worked in the kitchens, he thought, feeling no remorse whatsoever.

Agarra was busy rolling out pastry. She looked pleased to see him. ‘Nice to see you back in one piece today. S’brin all right, too?’

‘He’s fine. I’m just going to grab something for us to eat. We’re skipping lunch here.’

‘Bet I know why.’ She smiled knowingly and gave a nod of her head over to her left. ‘You know where everything is. Have fun.’

He took a selection and helped himself from the kettle of klah over the hearth. ‘See you later,’ he called to his mother on the way back out. Most of the riders had gone into the dining hall. There was just a small group of them still outside.

‘Hey, you! Weyrling.’

He looked around, wondering if he was about to get into trouble for avoiding the queue and getting fed before it was properly his turn. There were a couple of older riders sitting on a bench. On of them was H’sal. He wasn’t sure which of them had called out and you couldn’t just ignore a wing rider. ‘Yes?’

‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ That was definitely H’sal speaking.

He’d have liked to tell him to mind his own business, but that might lead to a complaint to N’teren about his weyrlings’ behaviour which would definitely lead to trouble. ‘The barracks,’ he replied shortly.

‘Kadoth’s clutch are too stuck up to eat with the likes of us,’ H’sal said. ‘Not too stuck up for other things though, eh?’ He made a suggestive gesture, prompting a laugh from his friends.

D’gar started to walk away. He didn’t have to listen to this.

‘If you fancy another go, you can come up to my weyr any time,’ H’sal called after him.

‘Or mine,’ one of the others added.

As D’gar made his way across the Bowl, he considered that it was a good job S’brin hadn’t been with him.

‘You took your time,’ S’brin said when he arrived. He’d already removed his clothes and was lying comfortably on the sleeping furs they left permanently down in the cavern.

‘Had a bit of a run in with some of the riders. They didn’t like that I’d got food before them.’ It was always best to tell half of the truth, he’d found. Then you were less likely to be found out.

‘Miserable gits.’ S’brin stretched, showing off his muscles. ‘Now, do you want to eat before or after?’

Later on, back in the barracks, D’gar was cleaning and checking Herebeth’s fighting straps. Carrying heavy loads of firestone put a strain on them and the amount of swerves and dodges his dragon had needed to do that day made it worse.

K’torl came over, carrying Ganath’s neck strap. ‘Hey, D’gar. Want to give me a second opinion on this?’

D’gar looked at the leather. ‘It’s a bit strained, here,’ he pointed to one part, ‘And here as well. If it was me, I’d probably make a new one.’

‘That’s what I thought, too.’ K’torl glanced around, then got a bit closer. He spoke quietly. ‘Have you seen Zalna again lately?’

‘Not for a couple of days. She’s kept busy scrubbing and oiling Gemalth.’

‘Do you think…’ again he glanced around. ‘You could maybe introduce me to her?’

D’gar frowned. ‘You could just talk to her yourself.’

‘Yes, but you already know her. If I go up to her, out of the blue, she’ll think I’m just another one of those bronze riders who’s only interested in one thing.’

‘And aren’t you? Only interested in one thing, that is?’ D’gar found it quite funny that he was being asked to act as a go-between.

‘No!’ K’torl protested, loudly enough that S’brin looked around from where he was checking his own straps.

‘Get your hands off him, D’gar,’ he joked. ‘He won’t appreciate you feeling him up.’

‘I didn’t touch him,’ D’gar said.

‘He didn’t,’ K’torl confirmed. ‘I didn’t touch him, either.’ He obviously hadn’t caught the humour in S’brin’s tone and like a lot of the other weyrlings, he was a little bit scared of S’brin’s temper.

‘Pity,’ S’brin turned so K’torl could see his smile. ‘Might be fun to watch.’

‘Get off,’K’torl said. ‘I’m not interested in him. Or any lads, for that matter.’

‘That’s what M’rell said, too, but he didn’t do too badly once he got going. Come on, K’torl, you know that Ganath’s likely to catch a few more greens than golds. Won’t do any harm to get in some practice.’

K’torl shook his head and started to walk away.

D’gar felt slightly sorry for him. ‘Hey!’ he called.

K’torl turned back. ‘Yes?’

‘Next time I meet her I’ll get Herebeth to bespeak Ganath. Then you can come over and pretend you wanted to see me about something and I’ll introduce you. But you’re on your own from there.’

K’torl’s face lit up. ‘Thanks, D’gar.’

‘Be nice to her,’ he warned. ‘She needs friends.’

‘I will. I really like her.’ He went off with a spring in his step.

Dinner that evening was a slightly somber affair. There had been a lot of injuries in Fall and many of the Wing tables had gaps where men had been forced to stay in the infirmary. On the tables occupied by ‘F’ Wing and ‘D’ Wing, the riders went through their customary toasting for the dead. D’gar watched as the Wingseconds solemnly passed around small cups of grain spirit before the Wingleader said a few words about the departed pair. He caught the tail end of Z’los’s speech. ‘…wing mates for nearly Ten turns. Here’s to A’til and Mayarth.’

‘A’til and Mayarth,’ the riders repeated, before drinking.

Mayarth, D’gar thought. The name was familiar.

‘Didn’t you deliver to him earlier?’ R’chol nudged D’gar.

That was why, then. ‘Yes, think I did. Blue, isn’t he? Sorry, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes. And R’feem’s weyrmate.’

D’gar noticed that the Wingleader of ‘C’ Wing was sitting with A’til’s wing mates, rather than at his own table. Z’los passed him another cup of the fiery spirit, which R’feem downed as if it was water. He seemed stunned, rather than grieving. Maybe it hadn’t hit him fully yet.

‘They’d been together for a good few Turns, so I heard,’ R’chol went on. ‘Sad for him.’

D’gar had seen the aftermath of Fall enough times to know what would happen for the rest of the evening. A’til’s wing mates - and his weyrmate - would recall events from his life, particularly the funny ones, drinking after each story was told. It would get louder and more rowdy, ending only when everyone was so drunk they could barely manage to stagger to their dragons for the short hop to their weyrs. Some might end up so paralytic that they’d sleep around the night hearth.

T’ron and Mardra made their way around the tables, too, offering their condolences. T’ron stopped for a drink with each of the Wings who’d lost a rider. He even sat down and chatted for a while with R’feem.

‘Come on, lads.’ As soon as they’d finished eating, N’teren ushered his charges back to the barracks. It wasn’t unheard of for violence to erupt, if someone misconstrued a look or a comment from another table, once the alcohol started to do its job. There were a few grumbles.

‘I was hoping for seconds,’ J’rud complained. ‘Or maybe another drop of wine.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ S’brin smirked. ‘Look what I brought back.’ He’d managed to pick up one of the flasks of spirit that had been doing the rounds. ‘Almost half-full, too. Who wants a drink?’

Two days had passed since the bad Fall over Ruatha. Herebeth had expressed a wish to eat, so D’gar had accompanied him to the feeding pens and sat there in the morning sunshine. For outsiders to the Weyr, dragons feeding was a gruesome sight, but he’d long become used to it. Herebeth hunted his prey efficiently. Unlike some dragons, he didn’t run the flock around. Once he’d picked the beast he fancied, he’d chase it away from the rest, then swoop down and swiftly break its neck, before picking up the carcass and taking it further away to enjoy his meal.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Someone sat down heavily beside him.

D’gar turned to see H’sal, whose Nalth had obviously dropped him off before he too went to hunt. Actually, he did mind, but he also didn’t want to be rude. He said nothing.

‘That was just a bit of banter the other day,’ H’sal went on, taking his silence for permission. ‘Hope you didn’t mind.’

D’gar shrugged. ‘Not much I can do about it even if I did.’ Weyrlings had to put up with a lot. But then, when they graduated to the Wings, they’d give their replacements the same treatment. Mostly, it was just teasing, although occasionally older riders went too far and N’teren had to complain to the rider’s Wingleader.

H’sal looked at him in that way he had, that made D’gar feel he was naked. ‘I meant what I said, you know.’

‘What?’ He’d forgotten what exactly had been said that day.

‘About you coming up to my weyr again. We had fun, didn’t we?’

Maybe he had, but D’gar hadn’t enjoyed it much. ‘I thought we made an agreement,’ he said. ‘That it was a one-off.’

H’sal shrugged. ‘If you like. But your weyrmate’s dragon’s going to rise again soon. Thought you might like to do the same again.’

‘No,’ D’gar said, without a second thought.

‘Oh, don’t you care any more?’ H’sal said in a mocking tone. ‘Don’t want to stop Nalth from chasing her this time? Or me from screwing your weyrmate?’

‘Shut up! I thought you said you didn’t fancy him.’

‘I don’t much. Like I said before, you’re more my type. Think about it, weyrling.’

D’gar got up and walked further along the fence. He realised now what a mistake it had been to bargain with H’sal the first time. He might have known someone like that wouldn’t keep his word.

‘Just don’t think too long,’ H’sal called after him.

_What is wrong?_ Herebeth asked, licking the last scraps of herdbeast from his muzzle. _You are agitated. You were not agitated when I started to hunt._

_Someone annoyed me._

Herebeth looked around, catching sight of Nalth, who had just brought down a fat wherry. _I do not like that dragon,_ he said, even though he probably couldn’t remember why. _Do you like his rider?_

_No. I don’t like him. But he likes me in the wrong way._

_I do not understand._

D’gar sent him a graphic image that he couldn’t fail to understand.

_He wants to do with you what you usually do with Zemianth’s rider? Just tell him you do not want to._

_You make it all sound so simple. Anyway, that didn’t work._

Herebeth flew back across to him. _I can bite his dragon, if you want._

_You know that’s not allowed. Dragons mustn’t fight._

_Pity._

D’gar didn’t really think much of it, although he kept his eyes open for H’sal and tried to steer clear of him. The Weyr was a big place, but sometimes it was hard to avoid people, particularly if they wanted to make a nuisance of themselves. H’sal was one of those kinds of people. In the dining hall, he’d deliberately get into the same queue as D’gar and ‘accidentally’ brush up against him. He also made comments to his wing mates when D’gar was in the vicinity, after which they’d laugh loudly, evidently at his expense. It began to get very annoying.

‘What’s up with him?’ J’rud said as they waited for dinner to be served. He’d noticed too, but then, H’sal and his cronies weren’t exactly discreet.

‘Just trying to irritate me.’

‘Why? It’s greens he usually pesters…’ J’rud’s eyes widened. ‘He’s not tried it on with you, has he?’

D’gar looked down at his scuffed boots. ‘Maybe.’

J’rud nudged him.

‘Well, yes. And I don’t know how to get rid of him.’

‘Swift knee to the groin usually does the trick.’

‘I don’t think that would do me any favours.’ D’gar helped himself to a portion of wherry pie. ‘If I assaulted a wing rider I’d probably be on midden duty until next Turn.’

‘There is that. Best hope S’brin doesn’t notice, then. Because he won’t care about stuff like that. Hit first, think later is his motto.’

D’gar smiled at the thought of S’brin clouting H’sal, even though he knew it would mean trouble. ‘I’m just trying to ignore him. He’ll give up after a while, if I don’t react.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

The tactic might have worked, if H’sal hadn’t decided to push things a bit too far the following morning, at breakfast. Fall was due later on, so there was a slight edginess in the dining hall. Lots of riders suffered from pre-Fall nerves, D’gar included. Although he’d delivered firestone without incident since his recovery, he still couldn’t help thinking of worst case scenarios. He wasn’t really paying attention as he went up to fetch some porridge. It didn’t look very appetising, but it was easy to eat without having to think too much about it. It also settled his stomach.

‘Hey, weyrling. You want something else nice and warm in your mouth later?’ H’sal had managed to join him in the queue without him noticing.

‘Leave me alone,’ he said. ‘Haven’t I made it clear enough I’m not interested?’

‘No harm in trying.’ H’sal shovelled a couple of eggs onto his plate. ‘Your friend’s dragon’s starting to look a bit bright.’

‘Is she?’ He’d not noticed.

‘Ha! Got you worried there.’ H’sal nudged him, almost upsetting the porridge.

D’gar turned on him, the bowl upraised, ready to throw it in his face.

H’sal’s expression changed when he saw what was about to happen. ‘Hey! Don’t do that.’

‘Why not? You asked for it.’

‘Might have to report you to N’teren if you do.’

‘What’s up?’ Unseen by either of them, S’brin had arrived. ‘Are you pissing off D’gar?’ he asked H’sal.

‘It’s all right, ‘D’gar said. ‘Don’t get involved.’

‘It was an accident,’ H’sal said. ‘I only nudged him and he turned on me right away. If he was a green, I’d think he was proddy.’

‘Oh yes, and you’d know all about greens, wouldn’t you?’ S’brin was never at his best in the morning. ‘You and those slimy friends of yours, always chasing after weyrlings.’

‘Didn’t need to chase this one, did I?’ H’sal obviously didn’t realise he was playing with fire. ‘He turned up in my weyr of his own free will.’

‘What?’ S’brin asked, his eyes narrowing.

‘Leave it.’ D’gar didn’t want S’brin to get into any trouble. Or H’sal to reveal any more.

‘What’s this tunnel snake trying to say?’

‘I, er…’ From the corner of his eye, D’gar could see N’teren looking their way. ‘We should go and sit down,’ he hissed. ‘People are looking.’

‘I want to know what he’s got to say.’ Once S’brin got an idea in his head, he wouldn’t budge until he got an answer.

Even H’sal had obviously realised he’d gone too far this time. ‘Can’t you take a joke?’ He chuckled nervously.

‘No,’ S’brin grabbed him by his shirt front and pushed him away. He took a few steps forward, fists at the ready. H’sal quickly dodged behind a small serving table.

‘It was just a joke,’ he said again, holding up a hand in defence.

D’gar glanced around. N’teren and his assistant were on the way over. ’S’brin. Don’t.’

S’brin turned slightly, as if he was giving up, then as H’sal relaxed his guard, swiftly picked up the table and threw it at him. He went sprawling in a clatter of plates, eggs skidding across the floor. N’teren and M’nan sprinted over, just as S’brin was going in for a second round. Between them, they pulled him off.

‘Pick that lot up,’ N’teren told D’gar. ‘Then you can get back to the barracks. My quarters, right away.’ He and M’nan dragged S’brin off.

D’gar righted the table, prepared for H’sal to say something else. If he did, then he’d definitely get a thump. He knew he was in trouble anyway, so it wouldn’t make much difference. But H’sal got himself to his feet and disappeared very promptly.

D’gar carefully righted the table and was about to start on the platters when Agarra came through from the kitchen. ‘I’ll do the rest,’ she said. ‘What happened?’

’S’brin lost his temper.’

She shook her head, sadly. ‘Will he ever learn?’

‘It was partly my fault.’

D’gar walked back slowly. He knew he was in trouble, but that wasn’t what bothered him. He should have been able to put a stop to H’sal’s behaviour before S’brin got involved. He’d have to make that clear to N’teren. By the time he’d got to the Weyrlingmaster’s quarters, he thought he knew what he needed to say.

He stood outside the heavy curtain, knocked and waited.

‘Come in.’ N’teren and M’nan sat one side of the desk, S’brin standing in front of them.

’S’brin tells me that H’sal was picking on you. Is that true?’

D’gar nodded. ‘Yes. Sir, it wasn’t S’brin’s fault, what happened. H’sal made some inappropriate comments. He was deliberately trying to rile S’brin.’

N’teren raised an eyebrow. ‘You know the rules concerning weyrlings and wing riders, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir. We shouldn’t fight with wing riders,’ D’gar said. ‘But what about when they try to pick fights with us?’

‘Then you should report it to myself, or M’nan. We’ll deal with it. I don’t want T’ron coming down here demanding to know why one of you has started throwing things around in the dining hall for no good reason.’

D’gar thought that was very unfair. ‘So why is it all right for H’sal to send his dragon up after young greens? Shouldn’t something be done about him?’ He sneaked a sideways glance at S’brin. He was being unusually quiet.

N’teren sighed. ‘You can’t stop dragons from rising.’

‘We’re not blind,’ D’gar protested. ‘We all saw what happened to Sh’bul. There’s been a few more like that, too…’

‘That’s enough!’ N’teren snapped. ‘That’s for us to deal with, not you.’

‘Except you don’t, do you?’

‘Enough!’ N’teren roared. ‘Both of you, midden duty for the next two sevendays and you’re back to bagging firestone instead of deliveries. I want fifty bags filled by each of you before Fall and I’ll be checking them, so no shortcuts. Now, get out.’

They walked the short distance to the barracks in silence.

‘I’m sorry,’ D’gar said to S’brin. ‘I shouldn’t have said all that. You’d have probably got away with a lot less extra duties if I’d not annoyed N’teren.’

‘Is it true?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘That you went to H’sal’s weyr?’

D’gar sat on the edge of his bed and looked at the floor. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘Why?’

‘I was trying to save you. He said he’d set Nalth after Zemianth. I told him it was just that once, but he’s been pestering me because he knows she’s due to rise again.’

S’brin sat next to him. ‘You’re crazy, you know? I can look after myself.’

‘Not when you’re out of your mind during a flight. I was scared. No-one else would do anything to help.’

S’brin put an arm around him. ‘I wish I’d thrown that bastard right across the dining hall,’ he said. ‘And I hope he does send Nalth after Zemianth. I might not be able to do much while the dragons are at it but I’ll bash his head in afterwards. And no-one will be able to touch me then because everyone knows mating flights can get rough.’


	5. A Day at the Lake

‘Why are you always in trouble? You don’t seem like the sort who would be.’ Zalna sat beside the lake, her long skirts wrapped around her legs.

‘It’s complicated.’ D’gar had just finished his midden duty for the day. Zalna had seen him wheeling a barrow full of dragon dung and had asked why. ‘Do you mind if I have a swim while we’re here?’ The dung had been smelly and he knew he was, too.

An odd look came over her face. ’I’ll shut my eyes until you’re in the water.’

Of course, she was Holdbred and they had such odd attitudes. Still maybe he could encourage her to behave more like weyrfolk did. ‘Why not join me? Gemalth’s having fun out there and I bet she’d love you to swim with her.’

Zalna looked down at the pebbles. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘No one at the Weyr bothers about nudity.’ He gestured out to the lake. Quite a few people were already in the water.

‘It’s not just that. I can’t swim.’

‘Oh.’ Most of the weyrbrats learned at an early age. D’gar had never considered that someone might not be able to swim. ‘I can teach you, if you like.’ He suddenly remembered she might not think that was appropriate. ‘Or I could ask Rina if she will, if you’d rather.’

‘No,’ she said, in a determined fashion. ‘I’ve been told plenty of times I need to get over my Holdbred attitudes. You go in and I’ll follow after.’

D’gar stripped off quickly and waded into the lake. The water was cool and refreshing. Once he was waist deep, half way out to where Gemalth wallowed, he stopped. ‘Can I turn round yet?’

‘Just a moment.’

While he waited, he studied Gemalth. She’d grown quite a lot in the past few sevendays. Like many dragons, she used her wings to steer herself through the water, strengthening them in the process.

‘I’m ready,’ Zalna said.

D’gar turned round and tried not to laugh. She’d left her shift on and it floated all around her. Now that it was soaked through, it didn’t leave much to the imagination either, but he thought he’d best not point that out. ‘Um, are you going to try and swim in that?’

She nodded.

‘It’s not going to help you much. All that material will get caught round your legs.’

Gemalth was happy to see her and started to paddle over, making considerable waves. Zalna felt the disturbance in the water and gave a small shriek.

‘Just tell her to stop, if it’s bothering you.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Zalna’s eyes unfocussed as she spoke to Gemalth. The dragon stopped, although she looked slightly surprised and even a little hurt.

‘Come on. I’ll help you to go out a bit further. Let’s see if we can get you out there to her.’ The first thing he’d learned was how to lie on his back in the water, moving his arms and legs just enough to keep afloat. ‘Let yourself lie down. You should start to float. I’ll make sure your head doesn’t go under.’

She looked dubious. ‘Honestly?’

‘It’s a lot easier to float on your back than on your front. Trust me.’

‘Well, all right, then.’ She started to lean back, then as she felt her balance shift, jumped up again, splashing quite a lot. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

‘Of course you can. No-one taught Gemalth to swim, did they? She just got in and figured it out. And she’s a lot younger than you are.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Now try again. Maybe bend your knees a bit first, so the rest of you is under water. Then let your legs float up.’ D’gar thought that sounded reasonable for a start. He didn’t remember learning how to swim, just like he didn’t remember not being able to walk.

Zalna did. D’gar put a hand under her head, surprised at how soft her long hair felt. ‘There you go.’

‘I’m floating!’ she said, ruining it by lifting her head up. As she was in shallow water, all that happened was her feet touched the lake bottom again. ‘Oh. That wasn’t so bad.’

‘Let’s try again, shall we?’

It took a while before she had enough confidence to float for a minute or so. Gemalth lost interest in the mean while and paddled further away. D’gar gently guided Zalna out to deeper water, encouraging her to use her legs to move herself along. Soon, he was swimming alongside, out of his depth.

‘Just a tiny bit further,’ he said. ‘You’re almost within touching distance of Gemalth.’

Zalna kicked a little harder, bumping into Gemalth’s flank. It took her by surprise and for a moment she panicked and floundered until D’gar caught hold of her, then placed her arm over her dragon’s neck. ‘That wasn’t too difficult, was it.’

‘How am I going to get back?’ She’d just realised how far they were from the shore.

‘Gemalth will take you in. If you fancy swimming when I’m not around, just get in the position you are now and she’ll look after you.’

‘It won’t hurt her, will it? I mean, I’m not too heavy?’

‘Ask her?’

A few moments later she smiled. ‘She says she can’t even feel my weight.’

‘You see.’

There was a lot of splashing over by the shore. D’gar looked over and saw several of the weyrlings plunging into the water. He groaned.

‘What is it?’ Zalna asked, worried.

‘Some of my clutchmates have arrived.’ They started to have a water fight, making waves.

Zalna watched them for a while. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, pointing.

‘Which one?’

‘Dark hair. Brown. Taller than the rest.’

‘Oh, that’s just S’brin.’

‘He’s very good looking.’

‘I know. He’s my weyrmate.’

S’brin spotted him and swam over. ‘Herebeth told Zemianth you were in the lake, so we thought we’d join you.’ He gave Zalna a quick glance. ‘You’re making some of the other lads very jealous, hanging around with the weyrwoman,’ he said to D’gar.

‘He’s not “hanging around”. He’s been teaching me how to swim.’ Zalna could sound quite haughty when she wanted.

‘And you’ve obviously not drowned yet, so he must be doing something right.’

M’rell arrived, with Rina. They both stripped unselfconsciously, leaving their clothes in a pile on the sandy beach. Zalna watched with interest. ‘So it’s fine for women to take off their clothes as well?’

‘Of course. Even weyrwomen do it.’ S’brin looked at her shift. ‘You might as well take that stuff off. Everyone can see right through it anyway.’

She glanced down, realised he was right and blushed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that?’ she asked D’gar.

‘I, er, didn’t want you to feel embarrassed.’

M’rell and Rina swam over toward them. Zalna looked even more flustered. ‘They’ll be able to see all my… everything.’

‘So?’ S’brin said. 'You’ve not got anything Rina hasn’t. Actually, I’d say you’ve got a bit more up top than she has.’

‘He’s trying to be nice,’ D’gar said. ‘Excuse his manners.’

Rina reached them first. ‘Hello,’ she said to Zalna. ‘You’re the one who has all the lovely clothes.’

‘Yes. Well, normally.’

She still seemed slightly flustered about talking to people while partially undressed, D’gar thought. Well, there wasn’t much that could be done about that now.

‘I work in the laundry,’ Rina said. ‘I love it when your things come in. They’re beautiful and they always smell so nice.’

‘Not when Gemalth drops her food all over them,’ Zalna replied.

She was obviously starting to feel more at ease. D’gar left them chatting about fabrics and swam further out with S’brin.

‘K’torl’s still dying to meet her, you know.’

He’d forgotten all about that. ‘Is he here?’

‘With the other lads.’

‘Well, why doesn’t he come over?’

‘I think he’s embarrassed.’

‘That’d make two of them, then. Tell you what, once she’s got out and put some clothes back on, I’ll introduce them. Maybe you could tell him.’

‘Will do. Aren’t you going to come over?’

‘I sort of feel responsible for her. I got her in here, after all.’

‘She won’t drown,’ S’brin said. ‘Gemalth would fish her out. Oh wait, maybe you like her better than me now.’ He feigned a tear.

‘Never. She’s not got your considerable assets.’

S’brin smiled. ‘Race you back to the others.’

‘Done.’

Once everyone had had a good swim, they got out. There were a few benches at the side of the lake and it was a good place to sit while you dried. The sun was warmer now; today looked like it would be a scorcher.

‘Maybe you could get some food off your mum and we could bring it down here for a picnic,’ S’brin suggested. ‘Well, once I’ve done the evening midden shift.’

They’d been taking it in turns for morning and evening. D’gar ended up shovelling more dung from the barracks, while S’brin got most of the spoiled food and vegetable waste. ‘Sounds like a good idea. Maybe my lazy dragon will come down and join us later. He’s sleeping off a meal right now.’

‘Zemianth too. Well, not a meal, ‘cos she’s not eaten for a couple of days. Just tired, I expect.’

K’torl came over to join them. He kept glancing over to where Rina and Zalna sat together, on a blanket. Rina was braiding Zalna’s hair as they chatted animatedly. ‘Think she might talk to me?’

‘It’s worth a try. You want to go over there now?’

‘Well…’

‘Come on. It’s only talk. You know, opening your mouth so words come out.’

‘What shall I say?’

‘Tell her how well her dragon’s looking. Say how much she’s grown.’

‘Say you like her tits,’ S’brin put in, ducking as D’gar aimed a slap at the side of his head.

K’torl looked pained. ‘He’s so charming. How did you ever fall for him?’

‘Don’t know really. Must be his body. Come on, let’s go and introduce you.’

The conversation began in a slightly stilted manner, but Zalna’s upbringing meant that she was good at encouraging someone to talk about themselves. K’torl’s confidence grew as they chatted and soon Rina excused herself, saying that M’rell would be missing her.

‘She’s all right,’ Rina said as they walked back. ‘I thought she’d be stuck-up, but she’s not, at all.’

‘Do you reckon she likes K’torl?’

Rina glanced back. ‘Maybe. Early days, though. Still, even if she does, they won’t be able to do any more than talk until Gemalth grows up a bit.’

‘There is that. How’s it going with you and M’rell?’

‘I like him. A lot. He’s sweet…’

‘Sweet!’ D’gar would never have described M’rell that way.

‘He is,’ she protested. ‘I’ve seen him putting on the act, to be one of the lads, but when we’re alone he’s lovely. Kind, considerate…’ she paused. ‘I’ve fallen for him in a big way, and I shouldn’t have.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’ll be joining a Wing soon.’

‘Ah.’ He realised the implications of what she said. The most dangerous couple of months in any pair’s fighting career was just after they graduated to the Wings. ‘He’ll be all right,’ he said, more through custom than certainty. ‘Toth’s sensible. M’rell’s not reckless.’

‘I hope so.’

By then they’d almost reached the others. The way M’rell’s face lit up when he saw Rina showed he was as taken with her as she with him. D’gar settled down next to S’brin, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be half-asleep.

‘You’re as lazy as your dragon, you know?’ He lay back with his head pillowed on S’brin’s chest and looked up at the bright blue sky. A bronze and a brown dragon flew in from the direction of the Hold, making a gliding descent towards the landing ground. One or two fluffy white clouds drifted slowly from west to east, too insignificant to blot out the glorious sunshine. It was good to be alive on a day like this, he reflected, thinking about what Rina had said. There were a few gaps in the Wings due to deaths, injuries and a couple of retirements. Loranth’s clutch would be filling those spare places soon. How many of his friends from the barracks might become just another statistic?

The afternoon passed slowly. Some of the lads had brought a ball made from scraps of leather and they kicked that around for a while. S’brin, usually keen to join in, said he felt tired and dozed off again. D’gar hoped he wasn’t sickening for something.

‘If it stays this fine, there’ll be a few greens going off later,’ J’rud commented. ‘I’m glad Zurinth went when she did. Mass flights can be crazy.’

Sometimes it happened that several dragons all rose at once, especially when the weather was hot and sunny. It almost seemed as if one triggered all the rest.

‘Zemianth’s about due, isn’t she?’ J’rud nudged S’brin.

‘What?’

‘I said Zemianth’s due to rise soon.’

S’brin barely registered him. ‘Don’t think so. She’s still sleeping, up there.’ He gestured toward the heights. Most of Kadoth’s clutch were sprawled together, soaking up the sun. Just like their riders, really.

D’gar registered Herebeth’s presence, getting a sense of contentment from his dragon.

_It is warm here,_ he said, sleepily.

_It’s warm down here, too. Sure you don’t fancy a swim?_

_Maybe, later. If I move now, I will lose my spot._

D’gar’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that lunch had been some time ago. ‘I’m going to the kitchens to get some food. Anyone else want some?’

Most did. It was a bit of a trek from the lake to the kitchens, but his legs could do with a stretch. They’d thrown open all of the doors and windows, but as he walked in the heat hit him like a wall. Agarra was putting the finishing touches to couple of pies, a cloth tied around her hair to stop the sweat running down her face.

‘Any chance of some food for a picnic?’

‘Take some from over there.’ She gestured to the trolleys already loaded with food to go into the dining hall later. ‘Is it nice outside.’

‘Hot. But a lot cooler than in here. Why don’t you come and join us when you finish? We’ll probably stay out most of the evening.’

‘I might do that.’

As he filled a basket with a selection of foodstuffs, he heard a dragon shriek outside, shortly followed by another, a rising crescendo of defiance and desire in their tone.

‘Sounds like a couple of greens are about to get chased,’ Agarra said, wiping her hands on her apron as she went over to the door to have a look.

‘We were saying that earlier.’ Should he take an extra few sweet rolls, he wondered?

‘There’s four of them parading on the heights,’ she commented. ‘One looks a bit like… D’gar, come over here.’

He joined her, curious as to what she’d seen. ‘What?’

‘Isn’t that one Zemianth?’ She pointed to a pale dragon, whose hide seemed to glow with a silvery-green iridescence.

‘Shells! You’re right.’ There’d been no signs of it when he’d left them. _Herebeth. Is that Zemianth flirting up there?_ Would Herebeth be interested this time?

_It is Zemianth._

He could tell from his dragon’s even tone that he had no interest in chasing her, or indeed, any of the females who were flapping their wings, bugling, shrieking and generally taunting the males who’d gathered close by to watch.

Agarra was looking at him. ‘Is your dragon going to go after her.’

‘Doesn’t look like it.’ He tried not to feel disappointed. Herebeth would chase when he felt like it and not before.

‘Never mind, love.’ She put an arm around him. ‘All in good time.’

He watched as several riders began to make their way back from the lake shore towards the flight cave. One of the greens glided down to the feeding grounds, where she killed and blooded a small herdbeast. Greens didn’t always blood their kills, although when they did, it usually gave them the energy for a longer flight. D’gar tried to count the number of male dragons waiting for the chase to begin. At least twenty, he thought, hoping S’brin - and Zemianth - would be all right.

‘I have to go.’ He took the basket and hurried out. Their clutchmates would help S’brin, if he needed it, but he was still concerned.

He met them around half way. M’rell and K’torl were leading S’brin in the right direction, although he kept stopping to look around, mirroring the moves of Zemianth, up on the heights. It was clear he’d lost track of where he was and even who he was as his mind became joined with hers.

‘Give us a hand,’ K’torl said. ‘I think M’rell’s about to get involved in this too.’ Now that D’gar was closer, he could see a similar vacant expression on M’rell’s face. ‘He was all right up until a minute ago, when Toth decided he was interested.’

‘Right. I’ll deal with S’brin if you help M’rell.’ He put the basket down and got S’brin’s arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on,’ he said, encouraging him to walk in the right direction.

The part of S’brin’s mind that he still had some control over registered who was helping. ‘I didn’t think… didn’t think she was goin’ to…’

He sounded almost as if he was drunk, D’gar thought. ‘Don’t worry about it. You can’t help it.’

K’torl was doing the same for M’rell, who kept trying to go the wrong way. ‘I’m just glad Ganath didn’t decide he wanted to join in too. That wouldn’t have been embarrassing in front of Zalna.’

‘Are you two getting along?’

He smiled. ‘Think so. She's really easy to talk to.’

‘I told you.’ They were getting closer to the flight cave now. Other riders were converging on it too, some walking fairly steadily, others being helped by friends. Generally, the more times your dragon had either risen or chased, the better you were able to stay in control, at least until they were in the air and fully committed. Most of those who were able to get there unaided were older riders. Almost instinctively, D’gar looked for H’sal. He didn’t spot the man anywhere, but he might already be inside. There were too many dragons milling around, waiting for it all to begin, to easily identify any of them.

The cave seemed dark, by comparison with the afternoon sunlight out in the Bowl. It was also busy. The two green riders who had already arrived stood in a huddle together, surrounded by the riders of the male dragons. D’gar had to elbow his way through. A couple of the men grabbed at S’brin as they passed, something they’d normally not dare to do, but they were emboldened by their dragon’s mating urges and S’brin obviously not being his usual self.

‘Get off!’ D’gar said, batting away groping hands. ‘Give him a bit of space.’

Eventually he got through. ‘Here we are,’ he said to S’brin. He didn’t want to leave him there, but had no choice. Any moment now one of the green dragons would launch herself, the others quickly following suit.

The last green rider, a man in his mid-fifties, pushed through the crowd without needing any assistance. He looked quickly at D’gar. ‘Best get out of here, son, while you still can.’

Reluctantly, he let go of S’brin. ‘See you afterwards,’ he said, knowing there was nothing else he could do. It didn’t stop him feeling as if he was abandoning S’brin. A normal mating flight was bad enough, he thought. This felt even more out of control, due to the sheer numbers. Even if someone had a weyrmate, even if their dragons often mated, there was no telling what would happen in such a free-for-all. Most of the male dragons wouldn’t care which female they chased and with so many riders crammed in such a small space, dragonlust would make tempers flare too.

K’torl grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Come on. You can’t do anything more for him.’

They stepped out into the dazzling light again. Dragons were still shrieking. The green who had blooded sat on her haunches out on the feeding ground, licking her lips. As yet more dragons circled the females, another few riders hurried to join the rest.

One of those up on the heights was the first to fly, triggering all the others into action. D’gar looked up to see Zemianth get away, two blue dragons the quickest to pursue her. The four greens took to the sky, heading in roughly the same direction as the pack of males went after them. Once they gained some height, they’d split off to take their own course, each hoping to attract more suitors than her sisters. The males would have to choose, at that point, which one to go after.

In a fairly short time, the dragons dwindled to coloured specks against the blue sky. The Weyr became quiet again. Down at the lake, people still lounged and dragons swam.

‘Your basket’s still there,’ K’torl said. ‘Shall we take it down to the others?’

‘Might as well.’

As they walked, he kept wondering what was happening inside the cave. At least if S’brin punched anyone during the flight, he wouldn’t get into trouble for it.

K’torl was evidently thinking along the same lines. ‘Hope they’ll both be all right. Your S’brin and M’rell. It was a bit crowded in there.’

‘I know. Still, at least it wasn’t their first one, eh?’ D’gar knew that K’torl’s dragon hadn’t chased any females yet but it was bound to happen soon.

‘Shards, yes! Imagine getting into a mass flight for your first time. Not much anyone can do about that, is there?’

That was true. Even when green riders asked for a restricted flight, it could still happen. ‘I’m not much looking forward to my first one,’ he admitted. ‘I mean, none of us know how aware we’re going to be until then.’

‘Same here. It’s a worry, isn’t it?’

‘Best that Ganath gets plenty of practice in, though. So he’ll know what he’s about before Gemalth is old enough.’

K’torl gave a small smile. ‘I can hope.’

They shared out the food among their party. K’torl and Zalna sat together again. D’gar noticed Rina looking miserable and went over to her.

‘You all right?’

She nodded. ‘I shouldn’t feel like this, I know. He can’t help Toth doing what dragons have to do. I was just hoping to spend a nice afternoon together.’

‘Don’t worry. I bet he’ll be back with you again soon.’ And definitely in the mood to please her, if Toth hadn’t managed to catch a female. Given the odds, that was the most likely scenario.

‘Must be tough on you,’ she said. ‘Knowing S’brin’s in there with all of those riders.’

‘Not much I can do about it.’ Although, thankfully, only one would end up having sex with him.

‘First couple are coming back,’ T’kes said, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked up. Everyone else followed his gaze. Two blues and a brown were returning to the Weyr.

‘Looks like that one got in a scrap,’ J’rud commented, pointing at a pale blue whose flight seemed erratic as he descended into the Bowl.

Although dragons didn’t fight, when so many were chasing a green, there were often mid-air collisions as they jostled to get closer. D’gar hoped that Toth and Zemianth would both come out of this uninjured.

‘Do you want that last meat roll?’ R’chol asked disturbing his thoughts.

‘No. I’m not hungry.’ It was true. Ever since the flight started, he’d lost his appetite. ‘You have it.’

More dragons began to trail back as their riders left the flight cave. Rina kept checking for M’rell, while pretending to be unconcerned. A couple of the lads started kicking the ball around again. D’gar wondered if all weyrmates went through this every time one of their dragons rose or chased. He thought he’d been prepared for it; he’d seen enough mating flights and even before he’d Impressed, he knew what went on. But when someone you loved was in there, it was different.

‘How long’s this going to go on for?’ Rina asked.

D’gar felt quite sorry for her. She’d always be watching M'rell go off into the flight cave, never able to participate herself without a dragon. ‘Longer than a single flight. When one gets caught, if the dragons chasing her aren’t too tired, they’ll just follow another one. That’s why the Wingleaders hate it when this happens too close to a Fall. They end up with several dragons too exhausted to fight.’

She sighed. ‘I could really use a drink now, but I daren’t go back up there.

It was sensible of her. Lots of weyrfolk hung around the flight cave, waiting to see if the losing riders wanted a partner. Rina obviously didn’t want to get caught up in that.

‘I’ll go and get something.’

‘Could you?’

As he made his way toward the kitchens more riders emerged. Surely it must be over by now? He risked asking one of them, an older blue rider he knew was in ‘B’ Wing.

‘Has everyone been caught yet?’

‘Just now. Two of ‘em almost at the same time as well.’ He shook his head. ‘We were so close.’

D’gar assumed he meant his dragon had almost caught one of the greens.

The rider gave him a questioning look. ‘You don’t fancy a quick one?’

‘Er, no. Sorry.’

‘Over here, love,’ a woman called out. The blue rider’s face lit up and he left D’gar alone.

He waited a while for M’rell. He could do with a hand carrying back the drinks. But although a few more trailed out, M’rell wasn’t among them. Evidently, on his second attempt, Toth had been successful.

He fetched some ale. It was only on his way back to the lake that he realised he was going to end up having to do this evening’s midden duty instead of S’brin.

‘Thanks Zemianth,’ he muttered. ‘You really pick your moments, don’t you.’

It was later - much later - that evening when S’brin and M’rell rejoined them in the barracks.

D’gar was relieved to see S’brin looked none the worse for wear. In fact, he was smiling, so that had to be a good sign. M’rell came in at almost the same time, his expression a mixture of pride - not every dragon caught his mate on only the second flight - and slight embarrassment.

D’gar soon found out why. ‘So, who did Toth catch?’ he called out.

M’rell shuffled a bit. ‘Er, Zemianth,’ he muttered.

‘Yeah, he did well,’ S’brin said, oblivious to M’rell’s feelings. ‘Even stayed around for a while afterwards, not like some browns and bronzes.’

‘No sign of H’sal then?’

S’brin laughed. ‘Gr’thol told me he took Nalth down to the Hold once he heard Zemianth was flying. Too scared to risk it, apparently. Don’t think he’ll be bothering either of us again.’


	6. Moving Up

‘I’ve been hearing rumours that some more of us are going to be asked to join the Wings soon.’ K’torl sounded cheerful as he strolled into the barracks.

‘Zalna giving you inside knowledge?’ J’rud asked.

K’torl grimaced. ‘She doesn’t know any more than the rest of us. She’s only a junior weyrwoman, after all. No, I heard it from G’dran in ‘D’ Wing. He said that what with all the recent losses and a few retirements they’re going to need new blood.’

That was an unfortunate way of putting it, D’gar thought, but typical of the Wingsecond, who was always very blunt.

’We’ll all need to be on our best behaviour, then.’ G’tash said, looking pointedly at D’gar.

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ S’brin put in. ‘They’ve the whole of Loranth’s clutch to choose from before they even start on our lot.’

G’tash shook his head. ‘You know as well as I that the first thing most of the Wingleaders are going to ask N’teren is how often any of us have got into trouble. They don’t want undisciplined riders in the Wings.’

S’brin shrugged. ‘Everyone gets in a Wing in the end. Anyway, greens don’t have much trouble finding places.’

That was true, D’gar thought. As greens made up the bulk of the Weyr’s population there were always more of them in any Wing than any other colour.

‘That’s all right for you, then,’ G’tash said. ‘But what about D’gar? Us browns are supposed to be responsible, competent and reliable.’

‘No-one’s ever complained about me on deliveries.’ D’gar said, in his defence. ‘In fact, quite a few riders have mentioned I always get to them promptly. And I don’t drop sacks.’ G’tash had been known to misjudge throws a few times.

‘That’s not what it’s about, as well you know.’ G’tash sounded slightly pompous now. ‘I’m just saying you need to consider whether you’re doing yourself any favours.’

S’brin stepped in. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ he asked, facing off against G’tash.

‘Just proved my point there, S’brin.’ He turned to D’gar. ‘People aren’t always judged solely by their own actions, but also by the company they keep. No offence intended, or anything, but I reckon T’garrin would give good odds on me getting into a Wing before either of you.’

‘We’ll see,’ D’gar said, although G’tash’s words had hit home. He knew he wasn’t popular with the Weyrlingmaster or his assistant. He and S’brin had been on punishment duties more times than anyone else in the clutch. He’d even overheard N’teren saying to M’nan, ‘D’gar will never amount to very much. He’ll end up as no more than a wingrider for all of his life, I’ll bet.’

They got on with the usual tasks. It was a day for filling up firestone sacks, ready for the next Fall. D’gar and S’brin were back on deliveries now, but all of the weyrlings were needed to make sure sufficient supplies were graded and bagged.

‘Is G’tash getting more irritating, or is it just me?’ S’brin asked.

D’gar held open a sack for him to fill. ‘No. He definitely is. He thinks it’ll make him seem mature and responsible.’

S’brin shovelled some more. ’As long as you don’t start acting like that.’

‘Don’t worry,’ D’gar assured him. ‘No chance of that.’ He tied the top with a blue tag and set it to one side. ‘Three more blues and it’s time for a break, I reckon.’

They sat on the firestone sacks, out of the increasingly hot sun.

‘So which Wing would you all like to be in?’ K’torl asked.

M’rell shrugged. ‘Not bothered really. You?’

‘Well, “A” Wing is the most prestigious.’

‘The Weyrleader doesn’t usually take raw weyrlings, though. He’ll wait until a rider’s proved himself then transfer them over.’ M’rell took a long drink from his flask.

That was true, D’gar realised. T’ron’s Wing was mostly made up of older, more experienced riders. It meant they had less losses than most of the other Wings. ‘“C” Wing’s a good one,’ he offered. ‘R’feem’s a decent Wingleader.’

‘Was, you mean,’ K’torl said. ‘I’ve heard he’s started drinking. His Wingseconds are holding it together, but he’s a mess.’

‘He lost his weyrmate recently,’ M’rell pointed out. ‘Give the man a break.’

D’gar remembered the evening he’d watched them toasting the dead rider. There’d been a few more deaths since then, of course, but that one had stuck in his mind, maybe because he’d delivered to A’til and Mayarth just minutes before it happened. He felt slightly sorry for R’feem; how could anyone just carry on as if nothing had happened after losing someone they loved?

‘I’d not mind “D” Wing,’ K’torl continued. ‘V’dul’s a hard taskmaster, but he promotes through ability rather than age.’

‘Yeah, but they have inspections more often than any other Wing. Riders are always getting extra duties for silly little things they’d get away with anywhere else.’ M’rell said.

‘Definitely don’t want to end up in that one.’ S’brin flopped down next to D’gar.

‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ M’rell pointed out. ‘V’dul’s very choosy.’

‘Sharding cheek.’ S’brin flicked some water at him. M’rell flicked some back, at which S’brin responded by throwing most of the contents of his flask at him. Everyone else scrambled out of the way. It looked as if it might escalate into a full scale water fight until K’torl stepped in.

‘That’s enough. Don’t want N’teren to come along and see we’re slacking.’

S’brin laughed. ‘Look who’s getting all bronze on us. Yes, Wingleader, sir!’

‘Oh, shut up. You know what I’m trying to say. We should be setting an example to the younger ones now, not playing about as if we were still weyrbrats.’

‘He’s got a point,’ D’gar said cautiously. ‘I mean, there aren’t going to be a lot of places, so they can afford to be choosy. None of the queens are clutching so often these days.’ A lot of them were going to be held back until Suderoth’s latest clutch - still only five months old - learned to fly _between_ so that they could move up to deliveries.

‘Loranth’s well overdue,’ M’rell said. ‘Nearly two Turns since we Impressed and she’s not risen since.’

‘That’s because we’re coming towards the end of a Pass. It’s natural.’ D’gar said. ‘I read about it in the records. It could even indicate we’re going to have a short Pass this time.’

‘What do you mean? They’re always fifty Turns.’ K’torl said.

‘Not exactly. Same as Intervals aren’t always exactly two hundred Turns. They can be as much as two or three Turns longer or shorter.’

‘You mean we might not even get to fight Thread before the Pass ends?’ K’torl sounded dismayed.

D’gar made a face. ‘No chance of that. We’re all going to get to fight. So will the clutch below ours. The ones after that, though… Maybe not.’

K’torl’s face fell as he had another thought. ‘That might mean Gemalth won’t rise for Turns and Turns.’

‘Tough on you, lover boy.’ S’brin laughed. ‘Ganath might have to chase greens instead.’

It was only a few days later that N’teren came into the barracks one morning and called all of Loranth’s clutch in to the teaching room.

‘Either they’re all in trouble for something, or he’s talking about Wing placements.’ D’gar carried on sweeping the area around Herebeth’s couch. The dragons were outside, enjoying the early sunshine, so it was a good opportunity to clean up. ‘How does Herebeth manage to bring in so much dirt? Zemianth’s couch is much cleaner.’

‘Easier to spot on her,’ S’brin said. ‘If she’s been rolling in the dust, I just tell her to shake herself, or have a quick dunk in the lake.’

‘So you’re saying my dragon’s the same colour as dirt?’

‘Well, it’s true. I mean, blues or greens, it’s going to be obvious. Even gold or bronze will look less shiny. Brown dragons are just grubby creatures. Hey!’ He ducked as D’gar swung the broom at his head. ‘Stop playing around like a weyrbrat.’

It had become their latest saying. ‘I’ll get you later,’ D’gar warned.

‘Promises, promises. Hey, look.’ He pointed over to where J’rud and B’rol were hovering beside the door to the teaching room, evidently trying to hear what was being discussed inside.

‘We’ll hear about it soon enough.’ D’gar carried on sweeping the dust into a pile.

J’rud turned around, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Shhh.’

S’brin went over to join them. All three of them leaned close to the door. D’gar doubted they’d be able to hear much other than the odd word. He swept the dirt into a pan and carried it to the midden pile. By the time he’d returned the meeting had finished and dragons were flying down from the heights.

‘What’s happening?’

‘They’ve all got to get ready for drills,’ B’rol said. ‘Some of the Wingleaders are going to be watching and asking questions afterwards.’

It had been about Wing placements, then. ‘Could you hear much?’ he asked S’brin.

‘Think there are around ten positions going right now.’

M’rell took Toth’s fighting straps down from their hook. ‘This is it.’

‘Good luck,’ D’gar offered.

‘Yeah, fly well.’ S’brin added.

M’rell gave a nervous smile. ‘Let’s hope so.'

Once all the dragons and their riders were ready, the rest of the weyrlings excitedly followed them out. N’teren was already mounted on Chareth, ordering them into formation.

‘That’ll be us, soon,’ S’brin linked his arm through D’gar’s as they watched.

‘Not for a while. They’ve got the rest of Loranth’s clutch to get through before any of us are picked.’

‘Maybe. But would you want L’rion or R’tal, if you were a Wingleader?’

‘True.’ Both of the riders he’d mentioned wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice. L’rion’s green dragon was one of the scattiest in the Weyr, even when she wasn’t proddy and R’tal’s brown had never outgrown his clumsy phase. R’tal wasn’t the brightest glow, either.

Three Wingleaders bronzes glided down from their weyrs. D’gar noticed that R’feem’s Piroth lacked his usual sheen, almost as if he’d been rolling in the Bowl’s dust. R’feem himself, always lean, seemed to have lost weight, his wherhide riding gear hanging from his tall frame. The Wingleaders lined up to cast an eye over their prospective new pairs. Z’los and T’resh shared a joke. V’dul’s dragon came in to land beside them with his usual precision, barely stirring the dust.

N’teren gave the signal and the weyrlings ascended, almost as one. R’tal’s Zunth almost flew into G’reden’s Jekkoth, forcing the blue into an avoidance manoeuvre. If they’d not been under observation, G’reden would probably have had a few choice words for R’tal, but as it was, he left it at a glare.

The four bronzes followed. Within minutes, they were high above the Weyr. D’gar and S’brin watched the first few manoeuvres until the dragons became lost among the clouds.

They were out for quite a while. When the dragons returned, riders and Wingleaders went back inside the teaching room. They emerged a good hour later. As soon as N’teren and the Wingleaders had left, everyone crowded around to find out how it had gone.

‘That was tough,’ M’rell told them. ‘The drills weren’t too bad. We had to keep formation, break out then come back into line, blink _between_ as if we were dodging Thread…’

‘Then we had to repeat the same moves time and time again,’ G’reden put in. ‘Sometimes, they’d deliberately fly into our space to see how we coped.’

‘My turns weren’t the best,’ K’torl confessed. ‘I almost clipped wings with Mirlith once or twice.’

‘It was the questions, though. They were hard.’ E’sen wiped his brow. ‘We had to queue up and see each Wingleader individually. They all asked different sorts of things.’

‘Like what?’ D’gar was interested to find out.

‘Some of them were easy. Like how many sacks of firestone would the average green dragon use in a half Fall,’ E’sen told him. ‘Or naming the different types of Threadfighting formation and when they’d be used.’

‘Lots of facts and figures,’ K’torl added. ‘But then V’dul asked me, “where do you see yourself in five Turns time?” I thought I should seem ambitious, so I said possibly as a Wingsecond.’

‘He asked me that one, too,’ M’rell said. ‘I told him, “hopefully still alive.” I was trying to make light of it, but I’m not sure if he appreciated that.’

G’reden shrugged. ‘Those questions were tricky. I mean, what are you expected to say when you’re asked, “what is your greatest weakness?”’

‘No idea,’ D’gar admitted. ‘I mean, you don’t want to make yourself look bad, do you? Is there even a right or a wrong answer to something like that?’

‘It was V’dul and Z’los who asked all those sort,’ M’rell said. ‘Don’t know how they’ll mark them, though.’

D’gar considered this. ‘It’s probably to see how quickly you can come up with an answer when you’re put on the spot. Or to find out who thinks differently.’

‘That’ll be you, then, when it comes to our turn.’ S’brin leaned across. ‘Any idea how you all did?’

‘They’re in talking with N’teren now. We’ll know later on.’ M’rell sighed. ‘Anyone’s guess really. I know Toth performed well in the air. I can’t help it if I messed up on the questions.'

‘Do you suppose they use the same questions each time?’ J’rud wondered. ‘We could write them down while everyone remembers, then learn the right answers.’

‘Doubt it. Otherwise every class would do that.’ K’torl hung up his wherhide jacket. ‘Nothing we can do now but wait.’

It was a rest day, so most spent the afternoon relaxing. K’torl and Zalna went for a stroll to the far side of the lake, as far away from his clutchmates as he could get. Gemalth, tired of trying to walk so far, got into the water and swam across to join them, while bronze Ganath preened.

‘Think he’s got it bad for her?’ S’brin commented.

‘Looks like it. I’m glad to see she’s found a friend her own age. Someone who can help her adjust to Weyr life.’ D’gar hadn’t seen Zalna so often since she became friends with K’torl. He missed their chats; he’d enjoyed talking to her. It had given him a different view of the Weyr, seeing it through the eyes of someone who was new to it all. But he’d never be more than just a friend, whereas with K’torl, she might have found someone who could be more than that. It would be just perfect if Ganath flew Gemalth, like something out of a ballad.

‘He’ll enjoy her company even more when Loranth finally rises.’ S’brin had a wicked grin on his face.

‘She won’t be allowed to do anything with Gemalth being young. Like we had to.’

‘Except we got round it quite a few times. Think they’ll figure out the same?’

D’gar wasn’t sure about that. Being Holdbred, Zalna’s inhibitions against sex outside of marriage would have been drummed into her from an early age. It probably wouldn’t even occur to her to find out ways to enjoy herself that didn’t upset the dragons. ‘I don’t reckon so,’ he said.

’T’garrin’s taking bets on when Loranth will rise to mate. I’m putting marks on that it’ll before before the end of the summer. Look, she’s soaking up the sun again today.’ He nodded toward the heights, where Fort’s senior queen was sprawled, a great golden mound.

‘Think there’ll be much competition for the Weyrleader’s job.’

‘The usual ones. V’dul, Z’los. They’re the only Wingleaders with any ambition. Some of the other bronzes might chase, but they’re not really in with a chance. I’m putting my marks on Fidranth flying her again.’

‘You’re probably right.’ D’gar’s thoughts wandered. Would some of their friends soon be wing riders? And if so, which weyrs would they be allocated? Probably the higher level ones, to start with. Lower weyrs were always more popular, particularly the ones which had access via the back stairs so you didn’t have to rely on your dragon ferrying you to and fro. But it took a few Turns and a degree of seniority to get one of those.

S’brin nudged him. ‘Thinking again? I can see that expression on your face.’

‘Just wondering who’s going to get into the Wings this time around.’

‘Well, we can probably guess who’s not.’ S’brin lay back on the ground and gazed up at the sky. ‘Pity it can’t be us this time. Be nice to have our own weyr, wouldn’t it?’

It was traditional to announce the new positions after dinner. All of the weyrlings from Loranth’s clutch were edgy that night, waiting for the moment when they’d find out who had been chosen. Being the first members of any clutch to graduate to the Wings was a cause for pride; it meant that you were considered to be the best; the pick of the crop, so to speak. N’teren sat at the head of the table. He already knew, of course, but he wasn’t giving anything away.

When everyone had finished eating, even the old retired riders without many teeth left, T’ron stood. He rapped the table a couple of times. ‘Your attention, please.’

It didn’t take much for the assembled weyrfolk to settle down; they’d all been waiting for this moment. As well as the tables being full, many of the Lower Caverns workers stood by the various entrances. Foster mothers waited nervously to find out which of the boys they’d raised would be becoming fully-fledged dragonriders tonight.

‘As you know, vacancies have recently arisen in several Wings. This morning, the Wingleaders concerned spent some time in assessing the abilities of Loranth’s most recent clutch.’ He paused there to smile down at Mardra. ‘I know the lads have been eagerly awaiting the results. So I’m not going to prolong their agony any further. Wingleaders, please proceed.’

T’resh, leader of ‘B’ Wing went first, walking slowly from his table towards the weyrlings. All eyes were upon him as he stopped just behind P’rel, rider of bronze Rodriolth. Tapping him gently on the right shoulder he said the traditional words. ‘The Weyrleader has allowed me to ride with you.’

P’rel couldn’t restrain the grin that broke out on his face as he stood, while his friends clapped, cheered and pounded the table to show their appreciation. Empty plates rattled and a few folk had to grab their cups to stop the contents spilling over.

Twice more, T’resh stopped to choose his new wing riders. B’shon and Sh’bul also stood, then followed their Wingleader back to ‘B’ Wing’s table The existing wingriders applauded them just as loudly and made room for them to sit. The Wingseconds passed around cups of fiery spirit to toast their new wing mates later, once the ceremonial part was over. D’gar was struck by the similarity to the send offs given to the dead. Welcomed with a drink, remembered with one, he thought, then stopped himself going any further along that line of flight. He should be happy at this moment, not dwelling on dark thoughts.

R’feem went next. He tapped M’rell first, followed by G’reden. D’gar cheered along with everyone else. M’rell would have his own weyr soon! He couldn’t help noticing the slightly disappointed look on K’torl’s face. P’rel had beaten him to be the first bronze rider chosen. It was clear that he feared he might not be picked at all.

The two new wing riders followed R’feem back to their table, leaving more gaps among the weyrlings. There were loud whistles from M’rell’s foster mother, Grania, while Rina looked as if she wanted to run and hug him and had to be gently held back by a couple of others.

‘Five gone, five more to go,’ S’brin whispered. ‘Think K’torl will get one?’

‘Let’s hope so.’ D’gar glanced up to the top table, where Zalna sat alongside Tirelle. She’d been trained not to show excessive emotion, so her face was a mask, giving nothing away.

It was V’dul’s turn, for ‘D’ Wing. He chose three weyrlings, one brown and two green. Sh’san, I’tol and E’sen followed him back. K’torl’s shoulders were slumped. He’d hoped to get into V’dul’s Wing, D’gar recalled.

Now there were only two more places and it was Z’los who came up to the weyrlings table. When he stopped behind K’torl, it was evident he couldn’t quite believe it was actually about to happen. He sat stiffly, not daring to look around as Z’los tapped his shoulder and said the traditional words. Blue Mirlith’s rider, V’sil, joined him and it was all done. The dining hall erupted into cheers as relatives and friends surged forward, all semblance of restraint gone. Zalna allowed herself a smile and a wave as K’torl settled himself on his new table.

The thirteen weyrlings of Loranth’s clutch who remained tried their best to conceal their disappointment. N’teren passed round a skin of wine for everyone to share in a toast to those who had succeeded. Even he had lost his usual dour expression and appeared fairly cheerful.

The rest of the evening was loud with celebration. Some of the riders cleared the tables to the sides to make a space, instruments were brought out and a few couples danced. Ballaran, the Weyr Harper, sang a traditional ballad welcoming the newly fledged dragonriders, then took requests for songs that grew ever more bawdy. Wine - and stronger drink - flowed freely.

D’gar wondered how long it would be before he - and S’brin - joined a Wing. It might not even happen at the same time, he realised. There was no guarantee they’d be in the same Wing, either, although that would be less of an issue. As a brown, Herebeth would be able to fly a full Fall, whatever the length. Zemianth, like the other greens and blues, would always fly shifts, or be kept on standby. It would be good to have their own weyr, though; a private space they could share and make their own.

S’brin poured another measure of wine into his cup. ‘Let’s hope M’rell throws a good party once he gets his new weyr.’

It was another rite of passage to mark a rider’s new status. ‘Should be fun,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll miss him in the barracks.’

‘Yeah. He was always on our side. Here’s to M’rell,’ he raised his cup.

‘Here’s to all of them,’ D’gar agreed. May they all stay safe, he added silently before drinking.


	7. Troubles

T’mudra was throwing things around the barracks again. That had to mean Jassainth was getting proddy. This would be her third time and it always seemed to have the same effect on him.

S’brin ducked as a pair of wherhide trousers came his way. ‘Bet you’re glad I don’t get like that,’ he said to D’gar.

‘Where is it?’ T’mudra muttered, throwing more things out of his storage box. ‘Which one of you’s taken my mending kit?’

‘No one has. It’s over here.’ D’gar picked it up off the floor where it had landed.

T’mudra snatched it from him without thanks.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, turning away as T’mudra went round gathering up his stuff, swearing under his breath.

It was well into the ninth month, but the summer’s heat clung on over the Weyr. Dragons basked in the sun as usual, causing more greens than ever to rise prematurely, or in groups. Thankfully, Zemianth’s latest mating flight had been solo. Herebeth still hadn’t shown any interest, though.

‘What’s going on here?’ M’nan, N’teren’s assistant, strode in to the barracks. He was a short man who shouted a lot to make up for his lack of height.

‘Nothing,’ T’mudra said.

‘He’s proddy again, what’s it look like?’ S’brin threw one of T’mudra’s shirts back at him from where it had landed on Zemianth’s couch.

‘Don’t you cheek me.’ M’nan pointed a finger and tried to sound threatening, but it didn’t really work.

‘He wasn’t,’ D’gar said. ‘You asked a question, he answered it.’ He was getting sick of M’nan. He had become increasingly annoying during the month since N’teren took him on. He liked to burst in to the barracks when no one was expecting it, supposedly to conduct inspections. His dragon, a lazy blue called Bilminth, seemed to share his rider’s fondness for spying on folk, often lying around wherever the weyrlings congregated and presumably passing along as much of their conversation as he understood.

‘I wasn’t speaking to you.’

‘Oh, weren’t you?’ D’gar said, affecting innocence. ‘You were shouting so loudly I thought it was so everyone in the barracks could hear.’ He was pushing his luck a bit, he knew, but it was making S’brin smile. In any case, he didn’t care any more. The more he was nagged about being responsible, the less he felt like behaving that way.

‘Do both of you fancy another sevenday’s midden duty?’ M’nan threatened.

‘Not really,’ D’gar said. ‘But we always seem to be doing it anyway, so I don’t see why I should even try to behave “in a manner befitting a brown rider” as you so often keep reminding me.’

M’nan looked confused. He often ended up confused when talking to D’gar.

From the corner of his eye, he could see S’brin trying desperately not to laugh, so he carried on. ‘I mean, where’s the incentive to behave when you just keep on giving us extra duties anyway.’

Some of the other weyrlings had stopped what they’d been doing and were watching, eager to see how this ended. M’nan’s face was getting steadily redder.

‘Right, that’s it!’ He was definitely shouting now. ‘Seven days on midden duty for you.’ He pointed at D’gar again. ‘And you.’ That was to S’brin.

‘See what I mean.’ D’gar said to everyone. ‘So predictable.’

M’nan stomped out.

‘You shouldn’t keep on riling him.’ J’rud came over. ‘I mean, you two are going to have the record for the longest time on midden duty for anyone, ever, in these barracks.’

‘We’ve got it down to a fine art by now.’ S’brin carried on making his bed, as he had been before all the commotion. ‘It’s not actually the worst thing you can end up doing. I’ve even got used to the smell. Besides, it was worth it to see D’gar getting to him.’

‘He’s a jumped up little toe rag,’ D’gar said. ‘I don’t know why N’teren picked him, of all people.’

‘It was as a favour, I heard.’ B’rol joined them. ‘Apparently he was so useless in ‘G’ Wing that H’xesh pleaded with N’teren to take him off his hands.’

‘Can’t be that useless,’ J’rud said. ‘He’s still alive.’

They all laughed. T’mudra just stared at them, shaking his head sadly.

‘What I don’t understand is why he needs an assistant at all. There are far fewer weyrlings these days and it’ll get quieter still as we near the end of the Pass.’ D’gar looked along the length of the barracks. Designed to house one hundred and forty weyrlings, the remaining forty-eight only took up a third of the available space.

‘Loranth will be laying more eggs soon,’ B’rol pointed out.

The Senior Queen had finally risen during the eighth month, just a few days after Zemianth. As expected, she’d been flown by Fidranth again.

‘Yes, but even if she has the same sized clutch as she did last time, that’s only another twenty-three. Suderoth’s not going to mate again at least until next Turn…’ J’rud tailed off. No one mentioned Suderoth much at the moment. Her rider, Tirelle, had given birth to a healthy baby girl the previous sevenday, but she remained confined to her weyr. Healers went in and out multiple times a day and Weyr gossip had it that she was seriously ill. This was borne out by Suderoth’s visibly grey hide and lack of appetite. The golden dragon lay on her weyr ledge, barely stirring.

‘And Gemalth won’t mate for another Turn and a half, minimum,’ J’rud finished, quickly diverting everyone’s attention from the plight of Tirelle and her dragon. ‘So the barracks aren’t going to be anywhere near full.’

‘Hopefully, N’teren will get as sick of him as we are.’ D’gar said. ‘In the mean time, I’d better go and shift some rubbish.’

While he was over by the kitchens - and before he started moving the rank pile of rotting food and peelings from their container - he nipped inside. Agarra would know what was going on.

‘Hey, mum.’ He sniffed the fragrant steam ascending from the pot she was stirring. ‘That smells good enough to eat.’

She tapped the back of his hand with the stirrer. ‘It’s this evening’s stew, so keep your grubby paws off until it gets out to the dining hall. What are you doing here, anyway?’

‘Oh, midden duty again.’

Agarra sighed. ‘Why do you keep getting yourself into so much bother?’

He shrugged. ‘It just happens.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I was wondering if you’d heard anything about Tirelle. How’s she doing?’

His mother pursed her lips. ‘Not good. It was a difficult birth and she’s running a fever.’

‘Oh.’

‘They’ve sent for the Masterhealer this morning. T’ron’s gone to fetch him.’

‘Let’s hope they can do something for her.’

Agarra nodded. ‘Poor woman,’ she said, with some sympathy. ‘I was lucky with all of you. Not everyone has it so easy.’

D’gar left her to go and fill his barrow. He glanced up to Tirelle’s weyr again. Suderoth was still lying in the same place, her great head resting on her forelegs. It would be awful to lose another queen dragon; bad enough when Valli and Kadoth went _between_ , but at least they’d had a good, long life. Tirelle was only in her thirties; she and Suderoth should have Turns ahead of them.

_Suderoth is sad,_ Herebeth said, picking up on his thoughts. _She worries for her rider. We all worry too._

The golden dragon’s strong emotions cast a pall over the whole Weyr. Workers going about their duties were unusually quiet. Even the children seemed more subdued than usual. As D’gar began to even out the midden - whoever had been tending the pile last hadn’t done it with much care - he saw Fidranth returning. Two people rode with T’ron, presumably the Masterhealer and an assistant. He watched them climb the steps to Tirelle’s weyr. T’ron laid a hand on Suderoth’s head, as if trying to reassure her, before following them inside.

There was no further news that day. T’ron and Mardra sat on the top table, looking serious. V’dul, whose Sarneth had flown Suderoth and who was most likely to be the father of Tirelle’s baby, hardly ate at all. Everyone in his Wing were equally somber.

The following day Thread was due over the tip of Southern Boll. A short Fall, as much of it would be over the sea, although two of the Wings were assigned to protect the fishing fleet. Drowned Thread made a good meal for fish and the boats always tried to get in just behind trailing edge to catch a decent haul.

‘Doubt we’ll be that busy, with such a short one,’ S’brin said as they waited by the firestone dump.

‘Hopefully not.’ Short Falls could be annoying. Some riders feared running out and called for extra sacks close to the end, just in case. They’d drop them back afterwards, often untied and with the contents spilling out. Clearing up always took far longer.

N’teren waited to assign drops. ‘D’gar and B’rol - you’re on deliveries to ‘B’ Wing today.’

D’gar gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘What level, sir?’

‘Covering the fleet today,’ he replied.

‘Don’t go dropping any sacks on the boats,’ M’nan added.

D’gar refrained from commenting. He relayed the information to Herebeth, so he’d know which dragons would be talking with him.

_We deliver to Norarth’s section today. Milliath will take Lurenth’s. I have the co-ordinates._ Herebeth sent him a picture of distinctively shaped dark cliffs and sparkling sea below.

We’ve been there before, he commented. There was a cove just to the east of those cliffs. N’teren had taken Kadoth’s clutch for a day out, towards the end of their _between_ training.

‘G’tash and S’brin. ‘C’ Wing today. Mid level.’ N’teren called out. ‘R’tal and T’kes. You’ve got ‘D’ Wing. Top level.’ He continued to allocate the dragons as more information came in.

Herebeth sent him the first deliveries. ‘Two brown, two blue,’ he shouted, then, sacks secured, they took to the air.

It was a fine day over Southern Boll, although that was incidental. Thread was falling over land and sea; the fishing boats sails catching the wind as the dragons gave them protection. They’d chase Fall all the way through, taking on as many loads of fish as they could store on board.

D’gar delivered his first pair of sacks to K’san, the Wingsecond. The visibility was good today and he could see almost the entire Wing, flying a tighter formation than normal to ensure not a scrap of Thread reached the ships below.

Herebeth skimmed just beneath them to take the second load to blue Farith, one of the dragons from Loranth’s clutch. He looked to be flying well. Herebeth held back for him to sear a clump of Thread before approaching. Just as D’gar unhooked the first sack he spotted something from the corner of his eye. Something bright; a dragon tumbling through the air, then winking _between_. Just a few seconds later came the inevitable sadness that told of a death. He shook it off and made the delivery, unsure of what he’d half-seen until Herebeth confirmed it for him. _Rodriolth has gone. He flew too close to Wesath and was flamed._

Shards! That had been P’rel. It had all happened so fast. D’gar returned to the dump, sobered by the experience. P’rel hadn’t been a close friend, but he was still a familiar figure in the barracks, with his red hair and broad smile. Now he was dead.

He took up another delivery, working through the shock. It had been different from watching that brown dragon die in the Bowl; less gruesome but more personal, because he’d seen P’rel so often, sat at the same table in the dining hall. He’d been, what, eighteen Turns? Two months graduated from the barracks. Statistics told that the first six months in a Wing were the most dangerous; now he’d seen the proof with his own eyes.

They didn’t have many more deliveries to do. Normally, they’d get off to the baths straight afterwards, but M’nan - petty as ever - insisted that he and S’brin helped to clear up the spilled sacks. There was no denying they were quicker at it than the younger weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch.

D’gar picked up a piece of fallen firestone, seeing that plummet again and again. In his mind, it merged with other deaths; Branluth in the Bowl, Valli riding off into the rising sun for the last time. Maybe Suderoth would be the next, if Tirelle didn’t make it?

‘You’re very quiet,’ S’brin said. ‘What’s up?’

‘That death today. It was P’rel. I saw it.’

‘Shit! You should have said something earlier.’ S’brin pulled him into a hug.

D’gar breathed in the smell of char and wherhide and that indefinable essence that was S’brin. ‘It’s worse when it’s someone you know,’ he said.

‘P’rel, though. He was good. What happened?’

‘It wasn’t Thread. Well, that might have caused the accident…’ Perhaps Rodriolth had dodged without checking all around him and flown into danger. ‘He got flamed by Wesath. I saw them falling, then they went _between_.’ D’gar noticed one of the weyrlings staring at them. He pulled back. ‘Come on, we’d best get this lot finished before M’nan starts on us again.'

By the time they got back from the baths, everyone knew about P’rel. The members of Loranth’s clutch who were still in the barracks had got together in a huddle. It was the first death among their number and they clearly felt the loss. That was natural, of course. D’gar couldn’t help but think that the air of dread hanging over the Weyr, due to Tirelle’s illness, just made it worse.

Dinner was even more gloomy than the previous night. It was always that way when someone so young died. T’ron stood and said a few words in their honour; drinks were passed around to ‘B” Wing’s riders. After the meal, the former weyrlings left their Wing tables and came over to show their solidarity. N’teren provided wine and they conducted their own version of the remembrance ceremony. T’resh, the Wingleader, joined them.

‘The Weyr’s not been this shaken since Valli died,’ S’brin whispered.

‘I don’t think it was as bad, then.’ D’gar poured more wine. Normally, he didn’t drink so much. Tonight he wanted its numbing effect. He knew he’d not be able to sleep for thinking about everything that had happened. It was another reminder of how death could come swiftly and suddenly; the dark side of being a dragonrider that wasn’t celebrated in ballads or even appreciated by most folk outside of the Weyr.

M’rell slept in the barracks that night, along with several of the others who had moved on. D’gar didn’t think it was because they were too drunk to make it back to their own weyrs safely. It was more for the consolation of being among old friends.

The next morning, he woke with a headache. Midden duty was that bit more onerous with a hangover. But as he wheeled the kitchen scraps away, there was one shining beacon of hope. Suderoth stirred from her ledge, flew to the feeding grounds and ate two herdbeasts. As the golden queen landed back on her weyr ledge to curl up and digest her meal, it was as if everyone in the Weyr relaxed.

Tirelle wasn’t up and about for several more days, but Weyr gossip soon confirmed that she was over the worst, although left weakened by her illness. The baby - named Vedrelle, proving her parentage - had already been fostered with one of the laundry women. On the first evening that Tirelle managed to come down to the dining hall, everyone toasted her recovery.

The good weather broke just a few days into the tenth month. The first frosts rimed the Bowl. Leaves turned colour and started to fall in the Fort Hold orchards. Riders began to hope for early and unseasonably cold weather, to freeze Thread into black dust. Until then, the usual routine continued.

Towards the end of the month, D’gar began to notice that Herebeth was paying attention to particular green dragons. He thought nothing much of it, at first. Herebeth was curious and often watched other dragons as they flew to and from the feeding grounds, or up to the heights. But there was something focussed about the attention he payed, first to Midoroth, then to Minth. In both cases, the dragons rose to mate just a few days later, although Herebeth didn’t show any signs of wanting to chase them. When he started looking at Carainth in the same way, D’gar asked him about it directly.

_What’s so fascinating about Carainth this morning?_

_She is a lovely colour. I like the way the light plays across her wings when she flies._

_Is she going to rise soon?_

Herebeth thought for a while. _I am not sure._

_You looked at Minth like that, before she rose. And Midoroth._

_I do not remember._

That was the problem with a dragon’s short memory span. Anything that had happened more than a few days ago tended to fade, although sometimes you could jog their recall with the right prompt. They lived very much in the here and now. _Are you going to chase Carainth?_ he asked. It would be good to have a bit more warning than M’rell had done, the first time Toth decided green dragons excited him.

_If she rises, then maybe I will. She is a very pretty green._

_What about Zemianth?_

_She is not about to rise._

D’gar sighed. The he went to find R’chol. ‘Just thought I should warn you that Herebeth seems to be taking an interest in Carainth. Is she about due to mate?’

R’chol obviously did some quick calculations. ‘Fairly soon, I think, although she’s not settled into a regular cycle yet. It was almost four months between her first and second time, then only three until her third. Although there was a lot of sunshine…’ He shrugged. ‘Why? Is Herebeth thinking about chasing at last?’

‘He’s not giving much away, but I think he might.’

‘Shells!’ R’chol glanced quickly down the barracks, to where S’brin was repairing one of Zemianth’s straps. ‘What’s he going to say about it?’

‘Well, I don’t complain when Zemianth goes off.’

‘Yes, but you’re more… reasonable. If Herebeth catches Carainth, I don’t want S’brin to clobber me afterwards.’

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

R’chol looked at him nervously. ‘Best make sure first, eh?’

He was probably right. It was as well to make S’brin aware that Herebeth might be starting to take an interest in other dragons. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

R’chol looked relieved. ‘Thanks. You know, I wouldn’t mind if we did end up together in the flight cave…’ he said, with a slight smile.

There was no time like the present. D’gar’s next stop was to see S’brin. He was busy stitching the leather, absorbed in concentration.

‘How’s it going?’ He sat down next to S’brin on the bed.

‘Not too bad. Think I’ll get a bit more life out of this.’

‘If you didn’t pull all those aerobatic stunts, they’d last longer.’

‘Are you trying to act responsible, or something?’

‘Not really. I just came over for a chat.’

‘Hmm?’ S’brin pulled his last stitch tight.

‘It’s just… I think Herebeth might be going to chase someone soon.’

That got his attention. ‘Really? Who?’

‘He’s been looking at Carainth a lot recently.’

‘So that’s why you were chatting up R’chol just now?’

‘I wasn’t. I just thought I should tell him, that’s all. Anyway, it might not even happen. He was looking the same way at Midoroth and Minth before they rose, but he didn’t chase them.’

S’brin said nothing for a few moments. ‘Do you fancy R’chol?’ he asked.

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Well, do you?’

D’gar didn’t want to lie.’He’s not bad looking…’ he ventured. Just like anyone else, he could appreciate a man’s body. It didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it, not while he was partnered with S’brin.

‘So, you do, then?’

S’brin obviously needed reassurance. ‘You and I both know that what happens in a flight cave has nothing to do with how we feel about each other. If Herebeth catches Zemianth one day, that’ll be amazing. But I can no more stop him chasing than you can stop Zemianth rising.’

‘I suppose so,’ S’brin agreed, although he still didn’t sound as if he liked it. ‘Sorry. Can’t help feeling a bit jealous about having to share you. With R’chol or anyone.’

‘That’s natural. I don’t like it when Zemianth mates and I know what someone else is doing with you.’ Maybe S’brin might appreciate better how he felt, now, the times he’d had to wait to see who’d caught Zemianth. Worrying if either of them might get hurt.

S’brin made another stitch. ‘I never thought it would be like this,’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d mind. Remember that blue rider saying how it didn’t matter, because it was only a flight and he still knew his weyrmate loved him?’

D’gar nodded. ‘“It doesn’t matter who he’s having sex with right now, it’s me he loves,” was what he said.’

‘Well, I do mind. It was bad enough knowing about what H’sal did to you. I wanted to kill him.’

‘Glad you didn’t. Even though he’s a loathsome human being.’

‘That’s part of it, too. When you’re up there with your dragon, out of your own mind, you don’t even care who you’re having sex with. It could be someone you like or it might be someone you hate. There’s no choice in the matter.’

It was the most S’brin had ever said about that aspect of being paired with a dragon. ‘We all have to go through it, though. It’s for the dragons, after all.’

S’brin nodded. ‘It’s just, until now I didn’t have to think about it. About you…’

‘I’ll be fine. Herebeth probably won’t even catch anyone, the first couple of times. And at least if he wants to mate, there’s some chance he’ll chase Zemianth one day.’

‘There is that, I suppose.’

‘I just hope he gives me a bit more warning than you’ve had so far.’ Or M’rell, for that matter, last time Toth had chased - and caught - Zemianth.

‘They say that once it’s happened a few times you get to know the warning signs. Zemianth doesn’t seem to have any, other than sleeping a lot before she goes, but as she does that anyway, it’s hard to tell.’

‘I’m hoping Herebeth might tell me. We talk quite a bit.’ He was never sure if Herebeth said more than the average dragon. He certainly seemed to think more; their personalities were well matched there.

‘Don’t know if it works like that with males. They don’t have a cycle, like greens. From what I’ve seen, they seem to make up their minds as and when the greens are ready to go.’

He was probably right. D’gar guessed that it wouldn’t take much nudging from a rider to make a blue, brown or bronze more likely to want to chase. After all, H’sal and F’nerl’s dragons chased more often than average and when a Senior Queen flew, any bronze rider who wanted the Weyrleader’s job would send their dragon after her. ‘Well, all I can do now, is wait and see.’ And hope I don’t lose my mind too much, he thought.

Two more Falls went by. A couple of greens rose, but Herebeth showed no interest in them. The weather had turned dull, cold and showery, meaning the heights were clear of all but the watch dragon.

It was a chilly, grey afternoon when N’teren had all of the weyrlings assemble in the Bowl. He set the younger ones, from Suderoth’s clutch, various exercises to strengthen their dragons’ wings. Many of them had already started to fly short distances on their own and some looked large enough now to be almost ready to carry a rider. Herebeth hadn’t been much older when they’d flown for the first time, he reflected.

While N’teren supervised the youngsters and their dragons, M’nan was enjoying exerting his authority by inspecting the older ones. The dragons were kitted out in their fighting straps, the riders in full wherhide, as if ready for Fall. It wasn’t the most pleasant weather to be standing around, although, he supposed it could be worse. At least it wasn’t raining.

‘I hope we’re going to do some flying after all this,’ S’brin hissed, having thrown a small pebble at D’gar to attract his attention.

‘If Bilminth can be bothered to get off the ground.’ M’nan’s dragon squatted on his haunches nearby, looking as bored as most of Loranth’s and Kadoth’s clutches. His eyes were half-lidded and D’gar wondered if he might actually fall asleep.

M’nan was taking a long time about it. It had been almost an hour and he’d only got through six dragons. Word had passed along that he was being much more fussy than N’teren usually was. The fact that he was writing everything down on a slate as he went made the whole process even slower.

‘Apparently, he’s awarding points.’ J’rud ducked under Zurinth’s neck, pretending to be checking the fit of a strap. ‘Whoever gets the least points is on midden duty.’

‘What?’ It was stupid. They were all old enough to know what they were doing. None of the dragons had any dry or cracked patches on their hides and if they weren’t looking after their gear, then there’d have been problems during deliveries. D’gar felt himself becoming increasingly irritable as M’nan made his slow progress down the line. To make matters worse, Herebeth kept fidgeting, almost stepping on his foot a couple of times.

_I know this is boring,_ he said to his dragon. _But that’s not going to make it happen any faster._

_But I want to see Carainth._ Herebeth craned his neck to its full extent so that he could look over the top of Zurinth.

_What’s so fascinating about her today?_ He really hoped this wasn’t what he thought it might be.

_She is beautiful,_ Herebeth said, in a dreamy sort of way. His eyes whirled with an orange-y tinge D’gar had never seen before.

‘Hey, J’rud.’ J’rud was round the opposite side of Zurinth now.

He ducked back under. ‘What?’

‘Does Carainth look any… different. Say, glowing?’

‘I’ll have a look.’ J’rud disappeared for a few moments, then returned. ‘I think she’s a bit brighter than usual. Hard to say on a day like this. She’s moving around a lot, though.’

‘So’s Herebeth. In your opinion, would you say she’s close to rising?’

‘I’ll ask R’chol.’ He disappeared again.

‘What’s going on?’ S’brin had evidently noticed them talking.

‘I think Carainth is going to rise and I reckon Herebeth will chase her.’

‘Oh.’

At that moment J’rud reappeared. ‘He’s not sure, but he says her mind’s all over the place.’

Further down the line, there was a disturbance as Carainth suddenly opened her wings. The dragons to either side had to move aside fast to avoid being hit.

‘Keep your dragon still,’ M’nan shouted.

‘I can’t!’ R’chol shouted back. Carainth struck out with her wings again, moving forward from the line. ‘I’m going to take her straps off.’ He began undoing the clips and buckles, with some difficulty as she became more agitated.

‘Leave her alone,’ M’nan shouted. ‘Make her stand still.’

S’brin nudged D’gar. ‘Better do the same with Herebeth. Don’t want straps on a dragon for a mating flight. Might get caught up.’

‘She’s going to rise, you idiot!’ R’chol’s patience finally went. He threw the straps onto the ground as Carainth rose into the air, hopping forward a dragon’s length from the rest. Herebeth lurched forward at the same time, just as D’gar got the chest strap unfastened. Further down the line, several of the male dragons appeared to be equally restless.

N’teren obviously noticed the disruption. He stopped his group of weyrlings in what they were doing and began to walk over.

Carainth snorted loudly, tilting her head to one side as she surveyed the males who had suddenly become interested in her. D’gar touched Herebeth’s mind and found it very different from his usual placid, thoughtful self. He was totally focussed on Carainth. D’gar found himself being sucked in to his dragon’s consciousness. For a moment he saw Carainth through Herebeth’s eyes; irresistible and eminently desirable. He felt as if he could launch himself from the ground after her the moment she chose to fly and realised he could actually feel the muscles of non-existent wings flexing in readiness. It was an effort to bring himself back to his own body.

‘Are you all right?’ S’brin sounded concerned.

‘No.’ Speaking was difficult. He’d seen it in others, now he was experiencing it. Was it because dragons couldn’t vocalise in the same way as humans and his mind was now trying to insist that he inhabited a dragon’s body? Just standing on two feet - something he’d managed perfectly well for most of his life - felt suddenly strange and unnatural.

‘Don’t fight it,’ S’brin said. ‘It makes things worse.’

‘We’ll look after you,’ J’rud added.

N’teren had arrived by now. ‘Anyone who needs to, get over to the flight cave. Everyone else, stay where you are.’ He strode over to talk with M’nan. D’gar watched them from what felt like far away and a different angle than he was accustomed; looking through Herebeth’s eyes again. Carainth was glowing with a soft, diffuse light that seemed to enhance every plane of her body. He could hear J’rud and S’brin talking, but their voices sounded different, filtered through a dragon’s perception. The words made no sense any more, just background noise. All that mattered was Carainth, whose own voice now bugled a challenge to her suitors; to him, Herebeth. He watched as she preened and paced, humans and dragons alike scattering as she opened her wings. Every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared to fly but she settled again.

More dragons arrived. Rivals for Carainth. He hissed at one who got too close, mantling his wings. Neyrenth was no match for him; he might be slightly faster away, but he didn’t have the power or stamina. Kailarth, another brown, wasn’t very nimble. He’d outflown Kailarth in drills; he could certainly outfly him this time.

‘Here you are.’ A gentle nudge and a familiar voice dragged him away. They were inside, now, in a dimly lit place. Other people were there, too. He didn’t want to be inside; he wanted to be with Carainth, flying through the open sky!

Go away, he tried to say, but he couldn’t find words any more. In an instant, he was back with Herebeth, their minds fully merged right at the moment Carainth finally decided it was time and propelled herself into the air. Herebeth followed, not getting away as fast as the three blues, but with only them ahead. Behind him, he was aware of two other browns, Kailarth and Seventh, jostling each other for position. As they ascended, his powerful wings brought him closer to the rearmost blue - Cegorth - with every beat. He tried to dodge around to the right of Cegorth, but the dragon blocked him, lashing out with his tail. He ducked to the left with the same aim, but this time the tail caught him across his face. It stung, but he ignored the pain and tried again, feinting left, then going right as Cegorth went the opposite way to try and block him. The tantalising glowing green hide of Carainth drove him on, until he was alongside the light blue dragon. Cegorth tried to push him aside, but he wasn’t having it. He shoved back, using his larger size and weight to force the other dragon off course. But their struggle slowed them both down and Seventh - older and more experienced - overtook them. Infuriated, Herebeth barged Cegorth harder until he was forced to give up, banking away.

Carainth was well ahead of the pack now. While he’d been tussling with Cegorth, it seemed that Neyrenth and Mirlith had been having their own battle. Seventh had almost caught up to them already. He sensed Kailarth was still on his tail, too, but there was no point in worrying about who was behind him when there were other rivals in front.

Carainth had reached a good height now and glanced back at her suitors. _Catch me if you can!_ she sent, just before she made a sharp turn, testing their mettle with a series of aerobatic moves only another green could have hoped to follow. Neyrenth overshot one turn and lost a lot of ground, Mirlith followed as best he could but Seventh simply predicted where she would end up and drew even closer. Carainth seemed to like that. Herebeth’s wings ached from the effort he was making to catch up, but no sooner had he closed some distance than she took off in another series of impossible-to-follow turns and dives. Seventh kept up with her better than a large dragon should be able to. Was she giving him clues to what she intended to do next? Herebeth couldn’t fly any better than he was already doing, yet each time she turned, he missed the cues and went the wrong way, or misjudged the radius of the turn, whereas Seventh always gained ground. It was as if they danced in a synchrony he wasn’t attuned to. Annoyance and frustration drove him on, past Neyrenth, closer to Mirlith. Then, abruptly, it didn’t matter any more. Seventh had got close enough to Carainth to grab at her and she decided to give in to him. Their tails twined together as they glided through the air…

As the dragons mated, D’gar found himself suddenly back in his own body. He could still feel air rushing over wings he didn’t possess, could still see the sky superimposed over the rocky interior of the cave. The sense of being in two places, two different bodies at once, left him disoriented. He staggered, having to lean on the wall for support.

_We lost her,_ Herebeth said. _She did not want us._ He could feel his dragon’s raw emotions; disappointment, failure, rejection. Over by the bed, B’naj and R’chol were kissing frantically, tearing off each other’s clothes.

_Never mind. We flew well. There will be other chances._ He let his face touch the smooth, cool surface, realising his cheek hurt. Someone leaned next to him.

‘Sorry I hit you,’ K’dis said.

He remembered the lashing tail. ‘Not your fault,’ he managed to say.

K’dis shut his eyes briefly, letting his head rest back against the wall. ‘I hate losing flights.’ He moved closer to D’gar. ‘D’you fancy…?

For a moment, D’gar was confused. Dragon emotions and dragon’s thoughts still clouded his mind. Two things broke through; firstly that he was uncomfortably aroused and secondly why had he never noticed how attractive K’dis was before. The sounds of passion from the bed made his decision easy. He reached out and pulled K’dis closer. ‘Do you?’

‘That was a boring afternoon,’ S’brin said later, back in the barracks. ‘We were all standing out there another two hours. Bet you’re glad you missed it.’

‘Oh, er, yes.’ He willed himself not to glance towards K’dis. Now the dragonlust had passed, he felt guilty and ashamed. He could have just come back here, sorted himself out. But you didn’t, did you, his conscience nagged.

‘Herebeth didn’t catch her, then?’

‘No. She obviously fancied Seventh better.’

‘Good practice, though. Never know, he might chase Zemianth next time.’

Although it should have been obvious, D’gar suddenly realised something. S’brin would never know what it was like to lose a flight. Greens always got their mate; they’d never feel that sense of defeat or have to deal with the after effects of dragonlust. It wouldn’t be easy to explain, so it was best not to even try. It was no wonder, he thought, that some losing riders got drunk afterwards.


	8. Wing Assessments

Turn’s End passed by. Loranth’s newest clutch took their places in the barracks. D’gar heard a couple of the lads from Suderoth’s clutch making the same sort of comments he’d done, wondering if their dragons had ever been that small, clumsy and noisy.

By early spring, most of them were flying well. Even Gemalth was doing circuits of the Bowl, Zalna’s hair tucked under a flying cap.

‘Doesn’t she look great in wherhide?’ K’torl’s voice was full of admiration. ‘And just see them fly!’

‘He’s really got it bad,’ S’brin commented, after K’torl had run over to help Zalna dismount when the session ended.

‘Good to see them enjoying themselves.’ At this rate, the pairs would soon be taking the next step; learning how to fly _between._ Once there were more young dragons available for delivery duties, then the rest of them could start moving up to the Wings. A couple more from Loranth’s clutch had graduated just after Turn’s End, leaving only eight still in the barracks. In some cases that had been down to bad luck: having the wrong colour dragon to fill a vacant slot. However, a few of those who remained wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice.

‘Thinking again?’ S’brin nudged him.

‘How do you know I’m not talking to Herebeth?’

‘It’s a different expression. Like this.’ S’brin tried to demonstrate.

‘You look like you’re constipated.’

‘So do you, when you think. So I obviously got it right. Anyway, what’s going on in that brain of yours today?’

‘Wondering when we’ll get in a Wing.’

‘Soon, with any luck.’

They were both finding it increasingly difficult in the barracks. It wasn’t just all the youngsters and the lack of privacy, but having to tolerate M’nan’s pettiness. He was getting involved in many of the everyday duties as rumour had it that N’teren was considering stepping down. He’d been Weyrlingmaster for almost fifteen turns, so he was probably sick of the job. ‘It had better be before M’nan takes over,’ D’gar said. ‘If we’re still here then, our lives won’t be worth living.’

‘Imagine what it’ll be like, having our own weyr. No more midden duty. No more stupid inspections…’

‘Parties whenever we like,’ D’gar went on. M’rell and K’torl had thrown a few memorable parties since getting their own weyrs. ‘If we manage to get a double weyr, we’ll have twice the space.’

‘If,’ S’brin warned. ‘There are never enough double weyrs to go around. Still, even if we get separate ones, we can take it in turns as to where we sleep. The dragons won’t mind.’

D’gar wasn’t sure the two dragons would even want to be together anyway. Herebeth hadn’t bothered to chase any other dragons since Carainth. He seemed to regard Zemianth as a flying partner rather than a prospective mate. They still occasionally launched themselves into aerobatic flights over the Weyr, despite the difference in size now both had reached their full growth.

S’brin continued, warming to the theme. ‘We’ll be able to leave the Weyr whenever we want, as well.’

As weyrlings, they weren’t allowed out except when supervised on drills or patrols. Because of this restriction, they had missed a few trips to the beaches of Southern Boll organised by friends who had already joined the Wings. ‘But first, Suderoth’s clutch have to be able to fly _between_ , so they can take over our duties.’

It didn’t happen for a couple more sevendays. N’teren was always cautious when embarking on that aspect of the training. Everyone knew it could be dangerous and although the previous two classes hadn’t lost anyone, that wasn’t always the case. 

Just as had happened for their own class, the weyrlings assembled for flying practise as normal before being told that this was the day. And, as always, word spread quickly. 

B’rol ran into the barracks. ‘They’re going to be flying _between_ today. I just heard.' 

The remainder of the weyrlings hurried outside. Many of the other riders and weyrfolk were already in the Bowl; foster mothers looked worried, children stared without really understanding, the riders caught each other’s eye, remembering how it had felt the first time they’d tried out this vital skill. 

D’gar glanced up to K’torl’s weyr ledge. He was standing next to Ganath. Even gold dragons and their riders had to learn to fly _between_ and they weren’t immune to the same weyrling errors anyone could make. K’torl would probably be more concerned for Zalna than he’d been himself. D’gar remembered how nervous he’d felt, having successfully jumped _between_ on Herebeth, waiting for S’brin and Zemianth to reappear that first time. 

‘Bet he’s worried,’ S’brin commented, obviously thinking along the same lines. 

N’teren took his time checking all the dragons and their riders were ready before giving them the signal to take off. Everyone watched as they flew to the further end of the Weyr, at the top of the valley, then commenced circling in a holding pattern. 

‘At least she’ll get to go first.’ It was traditional to fly in colour order; so gold would take priority. The three bronzes in the clutch would have the honour of going second. D’gar remembered N’teren’s instructions about visualising your destination; be accurate, but not over precise. Use landmarks that don’t change. That was why the first jump was always to the Star Stones. The weyrlings would have seen them from the air many times by now and should have a good mental picture, as would their dragons. He strained his eyes to see the tiny specks in the far distance. Gemalth shone brightly; unmistakably a queen. Then, she disappeared. 

It seemed as if everyone watching held their breath. To lose any rider was tragic; to lose a queen unthinkable. D’gar counted slowly, just as he did when riding Herebeth. S’brin reached for his hand. Then, as suddenly as she’d gone, Gemalth reappeared above the Star Stones. Spontaneous cheers rang out across the Bowl. Zalna punched the air and K’torl hugged Ganath’s neck. Zalna did as she should and made space for the next dragon, circling and watching as one by one, her clutchmates followed suit. 

All the bronzes made the jump successfully, to light applause from the watching weyrfolk. As each pair appeared, the tension seemed to diminish just a tiny bit more. One by one, the four brown dragons arrived above the Star Stones, then took their places in the waiting circle. 

‘That was one of those times I hated riding green,’ S’brin whispered. ‘All that waiting around. And even then, N’teren made me go last of all.’ 

‘I know. I remember.’ While they spoke, two of the blues made a successful transit, shortly followed by the third. Then as they waited for the fourth to appear, all the dragons began to keen. 

‘Shit!’ S’brin swore. ‘Who was it?’ 

Herebeth provided the answer. _Sisenth is gone._

D’gar wasn’t as familiar with them as his own or Loranth’s clutch. While he felt sad for the pair, it didn’t have the same impact as seeing P’rel and Rodriolth die. Still, it must be awful to be the next rider in turn. He felt for the unknown blue pair who had seen their clutchmate - maybe friend - vanish forever just before their own first attempt to fly _between._

The rest of them made it through. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Weyrfolk went back to their work. The remainder of the clutch would practice for the rest of the morning, perfecting their skills. Grief would have to be put aside until later, just as when someone died in the middle of a Fall. 

When the weyrlings arrived back, there was no air of celebration. Most seemed stunned by their clutchmate’s death. Some had tear-streaked faces. Their dragons’ colour had turned slightly grey. N’teren kept them busy cleaning and oiling their straps and checking their dragons. He looked weary and almost as sad, D’gar thought. Must be horrible to be so closely involved in training youngsters and to lose one like that. You’d always get the feeling it was somehow your fault; that if you’d gone over the procedure once more, or double checked the visual, it might not have happened. 

‘Don’t think I’d want his job,’ he said to S’brin. 

‘Don’t think you’ll ever get it,’ he replied. ‘But here comes the one who does want it.’ 

M’nan strode into the barracks. ‘Right. You lot. Kadoth’s clutch. Get yourselves to the firestone dump. There are sacks to be filled.’ 

‘Such sympathy,’ S’brin said quietly. ‘Such tact.’ 

‘Such an asshole,’ D’gar added, making S’brin snigger. M’nan looked around to see who had made the noise, but everyone in the vicinity feigned innocence. He glared at them all and stomped out again. 

Spring came to the Weyr. Agarra always said it was officially spring when the mud dried up and summer when it turned to dust. After a few more sevendays of _between_ training, N’teren pronounced Suderoth’s clutch ready for delivery duty. The first few Falls they shadowed the more experienced weyrlings. D’gar found he quite enjoyed passing on tips and tricks he’d learned in the time he’d been doing the job. Then came the day that N’teren thought it was time to let the Wingleaders decide who would be the next to graduate. He announced that the following afternoon they would all be assessed for their suitability to join the Wings. 

‘It’s stupid,’ R’tal complained, once N’teren was out of earshot. ‘We already did it before.’ 

‘Yes, but you didn’t get in a Wing,’ G’tash pointed out. ‘And it might be different Wingleaders assessing this time, who don’t know how you or your dragon performs.’ 

‘We’re older than you,’ L’rion said. ‘We should graduate before you lot.’ 

‘Not if no-one wants you,’ S’brin said to D’gar, leaning close so L’rion didn’t hear it. 

‘Surely they’ll want to pick the best,’ G’tash said. ‘I know I would if I was a Wingleader.’ 

‘Are you saying your dragon can outfly mine?’ R’tal sounded somewhat aggressive. 

‘Maybe he can.’ G’tash wasn’t backing down. ‘At least Kailarth isn’t clumsy.’ 

‘Neither is Zunth.’ 

They were faced off against each other now and the tension in the air was palpable. D’gar thought it was probably time to put a stop to it. ‘Leave it, lads. It’s down to the Wingleaders to decide. And it won’t do any of us any good if N’teren or M’nan come in and find we’ve been fighting.’ 

‘Says the one who’s on midden duty more often than not,’ G’tash grumbled, although he did back down. 

D’gar and S’brin spent the evening in M’rell’s weyr, trying to find out tips from him. 

‘Shells!’ he said. ‘It was that long ago I can barely remember.’ 

‘It was only last Turn.’ 

‘Well, it seems a long time ago.’ M’rell poured them both some wine. ‘Funny, but I don’t think about sevendays or months now. It’s how many Falls.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ D’gar asked. 

‘Well, there’s a pattern to them. You must have noticed that. It’s a repeating cycle, with just an occasional variation. Once you’re in a Wing, that’s how everyone talks. Six Falls until we’re back over Ruatha, or three since that bad one over Peyton. Or two since we lost Farith and B’shon. He was the second to go from our clutch, you know.’ M’rell took a drink and stared off into the distance. ‘It doesn’t get any easier.’ 

D’gar felt bad for him. It would be the same when they joined the Wings, too. He wondered which of their clutch would be the first to die, then stopped himself from thinking along those lines. 

‘So, how’s R’feem as a Wingleader?’ S’brin asked. 

‘He’s good. Always makes sure everyone know what the plan is. Plus he’s got a couple of experienced Wingseconds. They can practically read each other’s minds; don’t even need dragons. I’m glad I’m in his Wing. They look out for us new pairs. But you won’t have a lot of choice where you end up.’ 

‘It all depends on where the gaps are, doesn’t it?’ 

‘Mostly. Or people transferring around. So, at the moment, there are a couple of riders going to join “A” Wing, which will make vacancies elsewhere. And “F” Wing are short on greens, while “H” needs browns. Luck of the draw, really. The only tip I can give you is to ride your best and don’t try to be too showy.’ 

There were three Wingleaders looking for riders this time; Z’los, Sh’viel and N’gol. They spent some time with N’teren in his quarters, while M’nan, at his most officious, got the dragons and riders assembled on the landing ground. Rather than leaving them in the usual clutch groupings, he formed them up in order of colour. That left D’gar next to G’tash, R’tal and O’ron. 

_Watch Zunth,_ he told Herebeth. _He’s as likely to scrape wingtips as not._

_I will keep a good distance. Do not worry._

_Remember, nothing flashy. We fly precisely today, no showy, unnecessary moves. Remind Zemianth of that, too._ D’gar felt quietly confident that they would do a good job. He knew that of the four browns, Herebeth was definitely the best flyer, even if he did have a shorter wingspan than Kailarth. He hoped the Wingleaders had taken note of their prowess in deliveries, priding himself in never having mistimed a throw or got in the way when he shouldn’t. 

‘Here they come,’ G’tash hissed, as N’teren made his way over with the three other men. They cast an experienced eye over the riders and dragons, walking around a few times, although they didn’t ask any questions at this stage. D’gar began to feel nervous under their scrutiny, although thankfully his stomach didn’t play its usual tricks. Throwing up in front of a Wingleader wasn’t the best way to impress. 

They were soon in the air, watching the Weyr diminish below them. They went through a few routine drills first to warm up, before N’teren started testing them with some of the familiar exercises they’d done a hundred times, during which each Wingleader observed how the riders and dragons performed. They had to break formation and return to it in the right order, then blink _between_ as if dodging Thread and still stay in the correct place. The Wingleaders mixed them up a bit, seeing how the different colours flew together, as well as checking each colour for their own, specific attributes. In a Wing, one of the most common formations was to have a brown dragon flanked by a blue and a green. The brown’s larger frame meant that he could flame further and longer in one blast, whereas the nimbler blue and green dragons were more efficient at mopping up smaller clumps that fell erratically. D’gar found himself working with J’rud and T’kes and thought they did a good job of demonstrating a variety of moves. After a short break for the dragons to chew firestone, M’nan threw down fake ‘Thread’ from above so that they could demonstrate their flaming expertise. The strands were dipped in dye, so that if a dragon - or rider - was hit, it was very obvious. Neyrenth caught a wingtip in that one, but Herebeth and Zurinth managed to clear everything sent their way with no problems. D’gar couldn’t see how well Zemianth was doing, although he felt sorry for S’brin when he noticed they were having to fly with R’tal and Zunth. 

They returned to the Weyr. A few dragons and their riders bore purple stains. D’gar knew from past experience that those were difficult to wash out. He took Herebeth’s straps off, then went back to the barracks for the part he really dreaded. Not so much the practical questions, as he knew he had a good memory for facts and figures, more how he would answer those tricky ones. He decided that he wouldn’t try to be too clever or to over think things. M’rell had, after all, got into a Wing just saying what came into his mind rather than trying to work out what he thought they wanted. Although K’torl had done just that and got in as well. 

They queued up and went to each Wingleader in turn. It seemed that this time around, Z’los was the one asking those awkward questions that had no right or wrong answer. 

‘So, D’gar, why would you like to join “F” Wing in particular?’ 

‘It’s a, er, a good Wing.’ Flattery was never a bad thing, even though he had no idea why any of the Wings - apart from the Weyrleader’s, which you had to be invited to join - were any different from each other. 

Z’los smiled briefly, then stayed silent, encouraging him to continue. 

He decided to be honest. ‘I’m not sure what else to say. I mean, my friend K’torl is in your Wing and he says it’s a good place to be and that he’s learned a lot since joining.’ 

Z’los made a note on his slate. ‘That’s fine. Now, when I was speaking with the Weyrlingmaster it came up that you are often on punishment duties. Care to tell me why that is?’ 

D’gar shrugged. He didn’t want to make it sound as if S’brin was the one who got them into trouble, or that M’nan picked on them both. ‘I sometimes speak up when I shouldn’t.’ 

‘Would you consider yourself impulsive? Short tempered?’ 

‘I’m not sure.’ Why couldn’t Z’los simply ask N’teren all of this? ‘I think I might have been when I was younger.’ That was a good answer. It implied that he may have grown out of it. 

‘Hmm.’ Z’los consulted his notes. ‘It seems to me as if you’ve been getting into trouble more often over the past Turn, rather than less.’ 

That was definitely down to M’nan. Plus all the bother with H’sal. He didn’t know what to say. Well, he did, but he couldn’t tell any of it to a Wingleader. ‘It’s the barracks,’ he said after a short while. ‘We’ve been here a long while now and I’ve been getting annoyed with people.’ It was close enough to the truth, yet also sounded reasonable. Maybe Z’los would make the connection that if D’gar was no longer living in the barracks, his behaviour would improve. 

Z’los nodded. ‘Thank you. That’s all.’ Even before D’gar had got out of the chair he was beckoning to the next weyrling. 

Sh’viel was easier. D’gar remembered that it was his Wing that needed brown dragons, so did his best to impress. Fortunately his questions were all about formations, firestone and all of the other facts and figures he could recite in his sleep, so he came away feeling as if he was in with a good chance there. N’gol asked similar questions and also gave him a scenario in which he had to prioritise his actions and explain the reasons for doing so. He thought he reasoned that out well, too. Once the questions were over, the three Wingleaders consulted with N’teren again before finally leaving. 

‘How do you think you did?’ J’rud asked D’gar. 

‘Fine on the flying, not so sure about some of the questions.’ 

‘Me too.’ 

‘I messed up,’ T’kes sounded miserable. ‘I’m sure M’nan deliberately tried to dump that stuff on top of us.’ 

‘That was the whole point of it. He threw a few handfuls my way, as well,’ S’brin said. ‘We dodged, though.’ 

G’tash came over. ‘Pretty sure I gave some good answers to Z’los.’ 

‘Lucky you.’ D’gar wished he felt as confident. ‘What did he ask?' 

‘Why I wanted to be in his Wing. I told him because it’s the best.' 

S’brin made a gagging noise. 

‘No, seriously, that’s what they want to hear. Then he asked me where I saw myself in five Turns.’ 

‘M’rell’s answer to that one was, “still alive”,’ D’gar said. 

‘What was yours?’ 

‘He didn’t ask me that.’ 

G’tash looked smug. ‘Apparently they only ask that one if you’re on their short list.’ 

D’gar tried not to feel disheartened. G’tash didn’t really know that for sure. 

‘Do you think we’ll get in?’ S’brin asked, once they were alone. 

‘How did you feel you did?' 

‘Flew well. Answered everything as well as I could. They asked me why I was always in trouble.’ 

‘Yeah, me as well. That’s why I don’t think they’ll want us.’ 

‘We might be wrong, of course. Might be choosing our new weyr tomorrow.’ 

‘Let’s hope so.’ 

Dinner that night was tense with expectation, worse than before, because this time there was something to lose. D’gar couldn’t help but notice Agarra waiting expectantly just outside the archway that led into the kitchens. He’d already steeled himself for disappointment - even though he still hoped he might be wrong - but he knew it would affect her just as badly if he wasn’t chosen. 

T’ron gave his usual speech before the Wingleaders took their turn to go and pick their new riders. As Z’los made his way to the weyrlings table, he felt his heart hammering in anticipation, even though he willed it not to. He told himself that it didn’t matter as Z’los stopped behind G’tash’s chair. 

‘Well done,’ he said as G’tash stood, beaming. Several cheers rose up, although some of the weyrlings from Loranth’s clutch looked sour at having been beaten to the Wings by a younger rider. Z’los chose two more, both greens from Loranth’s clutch, which restored some of their pride. 

D’gar glanced at S’brin as Sh’viel took his turn. M’rell had said ‘H’ Wing were short on browns, so this was his best chance. He knew Herebeth and he could easily outperform the other two. Surely that would have been obvious to anyone with eyes in their head? 

But Sh’viel walked right past him and went to stand behind O’ron. That was bad enough, but when he also picked R’tal, D’gar could hardly believe it. S’brin clasped his hand under the cover of the table. ‘Think he might regret that one,’ he hissed. ‘Zunth nearly barged me a couple of times this afternoon.' 

Sh’viel continued, picking up a blue from Loranth’s clutch and finally B’rol, from their own. He gave D’gar a quick smile as as he followed the Wingleader back to his new table. 

‘Good on him,’ S’brin said. ‘He thought he’d done well.’ 

One more to go. D’gar was still hopeful, but N’gol picked two blues before tapping R’chol and T’mudra as his newest green pairs. Beside him, S’brin swore under his breath. Zemianth and Jassainth weren’t even in the same league, D’gar knew. ‘Never mind,’ he said quietly, just before the dining hall erupted into the usual cheers and table pounding. 

Back in the barracks, they both sat on the edge of S’brin’s bed. ‘I can’t believe T’mudra got into a Wing before me.’ 

D’gar felt much the same. Even Herebeth radiated disappointment. He felt as if he had let his dragon down. ‘Good for the others, though.’ He didn’t resent their success; they were all decent pairs. No better than himself and S’brin though, when it came down to it. ‘We need to do something before the next time.' 

‘Like what?’ 

‘Not get into any more trouble. That’s what the problem was. They’d rather take anyone else but us, because we’re seen as troublemakers.’ 

‘It’s not fair.’ 

‘No, but we’ve got to play the game. Otherwise some of that lot,’ he gestured towards Suderoth’s clutch, ‘Will be getting tapped before we do.' 

S’brin stared at the floor. ‘I don’t know if I can.’ 

‘Can what?’ 

‘Not react, if someone says something.’ 

D’gar rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got me. I’ll stop you, if needs be. From now on, the only time you’re allowed to hit someone is in the middle of a mating flight.’ 

The following morning, all of the pairs who’d graduated prepared to move out of the barracks. T’mudra was packing up his few belongings as D’gar and S’brin returned from breakfast while Jassainth lolled on her couch. He spotted them and smiled, but not in a friendly way. 

‘Bye, bye, losers,’ he said. 

S’brin wheeled around. ‘What was that?’ 

D’gar hadn’t thought it would happen so soon, but he was ready. He grabbed S’brin’s arm. ‘Remember, no trouble,’ he hissed. 

T’mudra was too full of himself to stop. ‘We’re the pick of the crop. First ones in the clutch to get out of here. You two are nothing. You never will be.’ 

D’gar had to work quite hard to restrain S’brin. ‘He’s not worth it,’ he said, loud enough for them both to hear this time. 

‘No,’ T’mudra said, evidently delighted that he was safe. ‘Better not hit a wingrider, weyrling.’ He gathered up his pack. ‘I’m off to pick my new weyr.’ 

S’brin was trembling with pent up fury as he walked out. ‘That little shit…’ 

‘You did well,’ D’gar said. ‘Now, we just have to keep that up for another couple of months and everything will be fine.' 

S’brin began to calm down. ‘You’re right. It’s not easy, though.’ 

‘Didn’t think it would be. But we’ll make it. Just wait and see, we’ll be the next ones out of here.’ 


	9. Lost Chances

‘So, you’re trying to stay out of trouble, are you?’ Agarra stood with her hands on her hips as D’gar tipped out the food waste from the bin. The recent warm weather had made it smell pretty bad.

‘Trying,’ he replied. At least it was only him this time, although if he’d not stopped S’brin getting involved, he’d have been doing his turn at the job again. ‘Some people just have it in for me.’ He remembered what S’brin had said. ‘Anyway, everyone gets in a Wing eventually.’

‘Be best not to get left behind next time,’ his mother said. ‘You’re worth more than that.’

‘Thanks, but I wish some of the Wingleaders thought the same way.’

He wheeled the barrow over to the newest pile and shovelled out the rubbish. If only M’nan would stop getting at him, then he’d stand a better chance of keeping off the punishment roster. Not for the first time, he wondered if some weyrfolk still harboured a grudge over his and S’brin’s involvement with Valli. He had a distinct feeling that someone - most likely Mardra - had warned Zalna that she would be better off without his friendship. Yes, she was spending more time with K’torl these days, as their relationship developed, but she also seemed to go out of her way to avoid him. It was a pity.

Midden duty done, he joined all the other weyrlings at the firestone dump. Tomorrow they would be delivering over southern Ruatha and part of Fort Hold; one of the longest Falls the Weyr needed to ride. Their territory was bounded by sea on either side, so they never had the really long Falls such as those ridden by Telgar or High Reaches, who had far more inland areas to cover. Still, there would be a lot of re-stocking to be done, plus extra firestone to ferry into the Weyr itself for the blues and greens waiting on standby.

S’brin was busy stacking sacks, so D’gar joined him. They had a good system going. A couple of the younger weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch helped, although they looked to be struggling with the heavier bronze sacks.

‘Come on. You lot need to build up your muscles,’ S’brin threw a sack at Gr’dan.

He staggered slightly, not just from the weight, but from the force with which it had been thrown. ‘Careful!’ he protested. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Listen, lad. You’ll be chucking these to wingriders tomorrow. They won’t appreciate it if they fall short because you’re too feeble.’ S’brin towered over the slightly weedy brown rider.

‘Not everyone’s built like a Gather wrestler,’ he muttered, placing the sack with the others.

‘True. But take D’gar there. He was handling these with no problem just after we’d Impressed and he had a lot less muscle than you back then.’

‘Thanks,’ D’gar said, throwing one to V’lon, slightly more gently.

‘I said then, not now,’ S’brin said ‘You just need to practise’ he told Gr’dan. ‘It’ll make your job easier in the long run.’

‘He’s right,’ D’gar said. ‘It’s safer not to have to get too close to another dragon when you’re delivering.’

‘M’nan said we should get as close as possible.’

D’gar caught S’brin’s eye. _Tell Zemianth’s rider not to get himself involved in this one,_ he sent quickly to Herebeth.

S’brin’s head jerked slightly as he got the message. ‘Well, M’nan knows everything about deliveries, so he may be right,’ he said, although to D’gar’s ears, his words were heavy with sarcasm. ‘We just prefer not to do it that way.’

‘Why?’ asked V’lon. He was a quiet lad, but he seemed to think a bit more than the average weyrling.

D’gar could empathise with that. ‘Like I said, safety’s the main reason. If the other dragon has to dodge fast - say a stray strand of Thread comes down - he could accidentally barge into you. It means you need to throw the sack further, but I reckon it’s worth the effort.’

V’lon nodded. ‘I get that.’

‘Of course, there are other advantages to building yourself up,’ S’brin went on. ‘You can do stuff like this when you need to.’ He dropped the sack and picked up D’gar, who wrapped his legs around S’brin’s back. ‘It’s more fun when your partner doesn’t smell like a midden, of course.’

He dropped D’gar again. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Midden duty, funnily enough. Another two days, remember?’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Why are you always on midden duty?’ V’lon asked.

D’gar shrugged. ‘I just get into bother all the time.’

‘M’nan doesn’t like him,’ S’brin said, getting to the point. ‘Or me, much.’

‘Yes, although you should probably try to keep on his right side as it looks like he’s going to become the new Weyrlingmaster.’ N’teren hadn’t actually confirmed yet that he was going to retire from the job, but it was all around the Weyr.

‘He shouts a lot,’ V’lon said. ‘And he’s always having those stupid inspections.’

It was good to know someone else felt the same way. ‘He does things differently than N’teren,’ D’gar said, trying his best to be diplomatic.

‘He’s an idiot,’ S’brin added.

Diplomacy had never been his strong point. ‘Best stop there, eh?’ D’gar suggested. ‘Let’s get on with this before it gets too hot.’

‘Yeah, and maybe you should jump in the baths afterwards.’

‘Only if you promise to join me.’

‘Done.’

Fall was due just after dawn the following day, which meant most of the Weyr were up in the very early hours. M’nan banged the gong just inside the barracks door to wake them all. The kitchen staff had provided porridge, eggs and meat rolls to keep everyone going, although as was usual for an early Fall, a substantial meal would be served mid-morning, once it was all over.

There was an air of quiet calm over the dragons and weyrfolk as night gave way to the grey predawn light. Dragons crunched firestone as D’gar and the others handed out sacks to each of the wingriders before putting fighting straps on their dragons and flying out to the dump to await orders.

The Wings took off in turn and disappeared _between_. The Red Star shone balefully before the rising sun swamped it and one by one, stars vanished in the ever lightening sky.

‘Zemianth didn’t want to wake up this morning,’ S’brin said, sitting on one of the sacks and finishing off his third meat roll.

‘I didn’t much, either. Too early.’ D’gar yawned. ‘It’s not natural, having to get up when it’s still dark.’

‘No, I don’t think you understand. She’s been sleeping a lot the last few days. And I reckon she looks brighter this morning, as well.’

‘You mean, you think she’s going to rise?’

He nodded. ‘Not right now, obviously, but soon.’

‘Should you be doing deliveries, then?’ D’gar knew that dragons were inhibited from rising to mate during Threadfall, but if you knew your dragon was close to it, you weren’t supposed to leave the Weyr.

‘It’s not going to happen right away. Maybe not even today. Just thought I’d let you know, so you can ask Herebeth how he’s feeling about it this time.’

_Have you noticed anything about Zemianth lately?_

_She is looking very fine._

_And…? Are you going to chase her?_

Herebeth sounded surprised. _Why should I need to chase her?_

D’gar shook his head sadly. ‘He’s oblivious.’

‘It’s probably too soon to tell,’ S’brin said. ‘You know how it is. A lot of them don’t make up their mind until the green’s screeching at them with the dragon equivalent of, “come and get me.”’

The sun rose slowly over the valley. A few injured dragons and riders returned, although none of them required assistance from Gemalth or any of the other support dragons who waited up on the rim.

N’teren’s Chareth landed alongside the other dragons, Bilminth following shortly after. Orders began to come in. D’gar took his first load up to ‘F’ Wing, fighting on the top level. It was windy over Ruatha, especially so high up. Doubtless that had contributed to some of the injuries. Herebeth found it difficult to keep steady while he was throwing sacks across. These were exactly the sort of conditions where you didn’t want to get too close to the other dragon, he reflected. A strong gust could blow you off course all too easily, or cause a midair collision.

Back at the dump, he called out his next orders. ‘Two bronze, two brown, two blue.’

Zurinth landed next to him. ‘Two brown, two blue, one green,’ J’rud shouted out.

D’gar noticed his face was bleeding. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Just caught a stray piece. It’s not too bad. Stings a bit.’ He wiped at the score reflexively.

‘Don’t do that. You’ll get muck in it.’

J’rud laughed. ‘Like I’ll not get char and firestone dust in it anyway. But thanks for the concern. I’ll get it looked at once the deliveries slow down.’

D’gar grabbed the next sacks as the weyrlings brought them. ‘Right. Here we go again.’

Deliveries were non-stop for a while as the windy conditions made the dragons use more flame. Thread blew erratically this way and that. Going up to the higher levels was dangerous, but Herebeth took care of them both, dodging and blinking _between_ when he needed to. As always, time flew by, measured by the number of sacks delivered and remembered as fleeting moments when there was a near miss, either to you or someone close by. But there was something exhilarating, too, about coming back in one piece, knowing that your dragon’s instinct and your own skills had kept you both safe. That must be even more intense when you were in the thick of it as a wingrider.

Once they’d helped clear up the dump, they returned to the Bowl. J’rud had already gone back to get his score treated. Two others on deliveries had minor injuries; a tail score for Koselith and a wingtip for Beyralth.

_Zurinth’s rider asks for you,_ Herebeth said. At almost the same time, S’brin must have got the same message from Zemianth.

‘Is J’rud all right?’ S’brin asked.

‘Last time I saw him, he was. Just a little score on his face.’ They both hurried over to the infirmary, where the queue of riders needing minor treatment was moving along.

J’rud had obviously had his facial score cleaned and numbed, but he came forward to meet them, looking concerned. ‘It’s B’rol.’

‘Where is he?’ D’gar looked around and recognised B’rol’s Milliath among the dragons waiting outside. She had multiple scores over her back and flanks and her head drooped sadly.

‘Somewhere inside. I noticed Milliath when I got here.’

Dragon healers were making their way round with pots of numbweed but D’gar noticed they prioritised the dragons whose riders were with them. A dragon standing alone, like Milliath, was treated with caution. They’d want to find out the condition of her rider before approaching. If a rider died, the dragon would want to take off and go _between_ right away, never mind if anyone was in the way, or trying to help them at the time.

J’rud led the way into the infirmary. It was never a pleasant place to be just after Fall and as they entered, the smell instantly reminded D’gar of when he’d been scored. Healers, riders and concerned weyrfolk moved around busily.

‘I’m looking for our clutchmate, B’rol. Green rider?’ J’rud asked a healer as they made their way through the jam of people just inside.

‘What’s up with him?’

‘I don’t know, but his dragon’s outside with scores all over her.’

‘Take a look further down. Don’t get in anyone’s way, though.’

D’gar followed him between the treatment pallets. He glanced this way and that, scanning for a glimpse of B’rol, while trying not to look too long at some of the injuries. Further from the door, it was less hectic. although healers and their assistants were still working on several riders. D’gar knew they prioritise here, as well. Stopping people from bleeding to death was the main aim, after which they’d have time to assess what else needed to be done.

S’brin slipped and almost fell. D’gar caught him. ‘Careful.’ There was blood on the floor which no-one had had time to clean up yet. They all trod more carefully.

‘I think that’s him.’ J’rud pointed over to the right. Two healers and an assistant were standing over the pallet, talking quietly. As they approached, D’gar recognised B’rol’s dark, curly hair. His face looked untouched, apart from a smear of blood on his forehead. It was only as they drew close enough to see the rest of him that the damage was evident.

B’rol must have caught a clump of Thread across his back; that would account for the scores on Milliath, too. From his own experience, he knew how fast the stuff ate through wherhide. The healers had cut off what was left of his clothing, revealing deep, broad scores. Through all the raw flesh, D’gar glimpsed bone. He felt his stomach begin to churn and had to swallow hard so as not to vomit.

‘Shards!’ S’brin said, voicing what D’gar was thinking.

One of the healers turned. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, sharply.

‘He’s our friend,’ J’rud said.

She motioned with her head for them to follow her and took them a little way off, out of B’rol’s hearing. ‘It’s good you’re here. You can assist us.’

‘How?’

‘He’s not in any pain right now but we’ve done all we can…’

D’gar understood almost at once what she was trying to say. B’rol was beyond help.

S’brin evidently did too. ‘But he’s not bleeding any more. He’ll live, won’t he?’

She pursed her lips. ‘Thread ate through his spine. He might live for a few days, but it wouldn’t be a pleasant end. It’s best for him to go easily.’

J’rud made a small, choked sound.

‘We’ve given him sufficient fellis to dull the pain. He’s still aware and awake. Maybe one of you could talk him through…’

D’gar caught S’brin’s eye. ‘Come on. We can do this for him.’

S’brin shook his head slightly. He turned to the healer again. ‘Are you certain you can’t do anything more?’

‘I’ve seen a few like this,’ she said, sadly. ‘A person can learn to cope without an arm or a leg; even without both legs, but in cases such as your friend… I’m sorry.’

D’gar touched him gently on the arm. ‘It’s the same as helping Valli.’

‘She was old…’ S’brin turned away. He sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘He’s not even eighteen Turns yet.’

‘I know.’ D’gar gave him a hug. J’rud joined them. The healer left them alone for a few moments, going back to her colleagues. They’d just broken apart when B’rol’s Wingleader arrived. The healer took him aside to explain the situation, leaving the three of them standing, unsure what happened next.

Sh’viel turned to them. ‘You’re all his friends?’

‘Friends and clutchmates,’ J’rud confirmed.

‘That’s good. You’ll know him better than I do.’

It had only been just over a month since B’rol joined ‘H’ Wing. ‘We grew up together, even before we Impressed,’ D’gar said.

Sh’viel nodded. ‘In that case, I’ll look after the dragon. Make sure she has space and everyone’s clear. And, as Wingleader, it’s my duty to make sure he joins her _between_ …’

‘No need.’ S’brin spoke up. ‘I can do that.’

‘You sure?’

S’brin looked firm. ‘If that’s all we can do for him, then I’ll gladly do it.’

The Wingleader laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Good lad.’ He turned to the healer. ‘I’ll get things ready if you want to…’

‘Of course.’ She cleared the space around the pallet. ‘Probably best if just one of you talks to him.’

‘Can I hold his hand,’ J’rud asked. ‘I mean, will he be able to tell?’

‘He still has some sensation in his arms and hands. Go ahead.’

‘I’ll do the talking, then,’ D’gar said. He blinked back tears and kneeled down at B’rol’s side. ‘Hey.’

B’rol opened his eyes. He didn’t look as if he was in pain. ‘We got hit,’ he said, faintly. ‘Milliath’s hurt.’

‘Yes, but she got you home.’ He paused. ‘Can you talk to her?’

B’rol’s eyes unfocused as he talked to his dragon. ‘She says she’s waiting for me.’

‘That’s good.’ D’gar wasn’t sure what to say next. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know how bad it is?’

‘It hurt a lot when Thread hit me. I couldn’t feel my legs when they got me down. But I’m not in any pain now. Sort of sleepy, though.’

‘They’ve given you some fellis.’ He glanced at the healer and at J’rud and S’brin, on either side of the pallet. ‘J’rud’s here too and S’brin. They’re holding your hands. Can you feel that?’

‘Mm, hmm. That’s kind of them.’ He shut his eyes briefly. ‘I’m done for, aren’t I?’

There was no easy way to say it. ‘You aren’t going to get better.’

B’rol looked away for a moment. A tear rolled down his cheek. ‘That’s what I thought.’

‘We’re going to stay here with you. We’ll see this through together.’ His voice broke. He wiped his eyes. ‘You should probably talk to Milliath again.’

‘Not sure if she’ll understand.’

It might be beyond a dragon’s comprehension. They lived in the here and now, after all. Milliath would know that her rider was comfortable and conscious. Could she conceive that soon he wouldn’t be? ‘Give it a try.’ One of the healers handed him a cup of wine. He recognised the bitter scent of fellis from the times he’d dosed Valli. This was a lot stronger, of course.

B’rol opened his eyes again. ‘She says we’ll fly together soon.’

‘And you will. S’brin’s going to take you to be with her.’ D’gar held up the cup. ‘Do you want some of this now, or to talk for a while more?’ He knew that such a large dose of fellis would send someone to sleep fairly quickly.

‘I don’t want to keep her waiting too long. Her scores hurt, too.’ B’rol raised his head. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’

D’gar nodded. He had to blink back tears again. Stay strong, he told himself. That’s not going to help him. ‘We did. Hey, do you remember the time S’brin gave that lecture on flamethrowers, by the lake?’

B’rol smiled. ‘That was funny. I’ll never forget the expression on T’mudra’s face. And there was the time in the barracks, when we all got drunk on that skin of wine.’

’N’teren was furious, wasn’t he?’

‘Yeah, he was. And blamed S’brin, as usual.’ He paused, his expression becoming serious. ‘Let’s have a drink of that now.’

D’gar held the cup close to his lips.

The healer leaned down next to him. ‘Make sure he has it all, before he falls asleep.’

B’rol drank some and made a face. ‘Bitter.’

‘I know. Tillek’s never the best. You’d have thought they could spare some decent Benden, wouldn’t you? Best get it down quickly.’

B’rol swallowed the last of it and D’gar set the empty cup aside.

‘We were just getting the hang of it, too,’ he said. ‘Fighting Thread. Didn’t even see it coming.’

‘It was the same when I got scored. I don’t think anyone does.’

‘Sharding stuff. You all take care, when you get in a Wing.’ B’rol shut his eyes again. ‘Feel quite sleepy now.’ His eyes shut briefly, then he snapped awake again. ‘Tell Linida…’

That was his foster mum. ‘I will.’ He wasn’t sure if B’rol could still hear him, but he kept talking anyway, recounting stories from when they were weyrbrats. B’rol’s breathing gradually became shallower.

The healer reached past D’gar to feel for a pulse in his neck. ‘Almost there,’ she said. A few moments later they heard the dragons keen. D’gar stopped talking and bowed his head. He felt worse than when Valli had died. She’d gone to her death bravely, but she’d lived a good, long life before that. A tear dripped onto the floor. He wasn’t sure if he was grieving for B’rol, or for all the lost lives; all the lost chances.

S’brin reached down to help him up. ‘Are you all right?’

D’gar nodded. ‘Fine.’ Better than B’rol, at any rate. He had a horrible vision of ending the same way, lying broken on a bloody pallet after Threadfall. Better to get wiped out in the air, to go _between_ before you had the time to think about it too much.

J’rud came round to join them. ‘First of our clutch,’ he said, choking a little on the words. ‘It’s so unfair.’ They all hugged again. D’gar felt as if he never wanted to let S’brin go; that while they were together and touching, it somehow kept them both safe.

‘We’d best finish this,’ S’brin said. ‘I made a promise.’ D’gar and J’rud stepped back as he lifted B’rol’s body, carefully and reverently.

‘Thank you,’ said the healer. ‘You did well.’

D’gar and J’rud followed S’brin out of the infirmary. Milliath had gone, of course. Sh’viel was still there, talking with another couple of Wingleaders; R’feem and V’dul.

Zemianth landed in the empty space. For a moment, S’brin seemed unsure what to do next. R’feem stepped in. ‘Best to let your dragon carry him in her talons. Then when you’re _between_ she can let him go, nice and easy.’  
‘Right.’ S’brin was practical, as always. He gently placed B’rol’s body in front of Zemianth while he spoke to her. Weyrfolk and riders watched as he mounted up. Zemianth picked up her precious cargo with as much care as S’brin had done just a few minutes before. The Wingleaders asked people to move back to give her room and she rose cleanly as ever into the sky above the Weyr. D’gar followed her flight path until she abruptly disappeared _between_ , counting the seconds as he always did. Zemianth reappeared in almost the same spot as she’d left, making a slow, circling descent before landing in almost the same spot. S’brin got down. D’gar noticed that there was blood on his clothes and hands.

Sh’viel stepped forward. ‘Not much I can say, I know, but you and your clutchmates are welcome to join us tonight when we have a few drinks for him.’

‘Thanks,’ S’brin said. ‘Shall we go and get cleaned up?’

It was always worse when someone so young had died. Everyone knew the statistics, but that didn’t really lessen the sadness. Even in the short time he’d been in ‘H’ Wing, B’rol had made himself useful and the older riders sang his praises. D’gar drank a lot more than he would usually, recalling B’rol’s last moments. He knew he’d not forget today’s work in a good while. Deaths were a regular part of growing up in the Weyr, but now it seemed he held a few close to his heart; Valli, of course, now P’rel, B’shon and B’rol. As the Turns went by, he knew there’d be more of them; ghosts who never quite went away.

Life went on. Three days later Zemianth rose to mate again. D’gar had been almost certain Herebeth would chase her this time, but he didn’t stir. He wondered if his state of mind was affecting his dragon; they had an emotional connection, after all. S’brin had no such choice in the matter. A green's cycle was only interrupted by injury to the dragon. Her rider’s emotional state might delay it slightly but wasn’t enough to stop her rising. He came back to the barracks much more subdued than he’d been after previous flights.

D’gar’s birthday passed by. He was eighteen now. Agarra made him a cake, which they shared in the barracks that night, along with some wine S’brin had liberated. ‘Think you’ll be in a Wing before your next one?’ he mused.

‘Hope so.’ Silently, he also hoped he’d still be around for the next one. He had confidence in Herebeth, of course, but he was enough of a realist to know that didn’t really make any difference. All of those who’d died or ended up maimed had probably been equally as certain they’d stay alive and well.

‘Here’s to us all, then.’ S’brin raised his cup. ‘Let’s see if we can get out of these sharding barracks by Turn’s End.’

It became more urgent when N’teren made the announcement that he was retiring as Weyrlingmaster at the beginning of the ninth month. He’d be joining ‘B’ Wing as Wingsecond, leaving M’nan to take over. ‘This way, he’ll have plenty of time to get accustomed to the job before the next clutch comes along,’ N’teren said, when he told them all.

‘He’s lasted a lot longer than most do,’ Agarra said to D’gar, later on that day. ‘It’s one of those jobs that sounds easy, but isn’t at all.’

D’gar hadn’t always got along with N’teren, but he knew he’d get on even less well with M’nan. ‘Just hope I graduate before then.’

‘I’ve heard some of the Wings will be looking for new riders before summer’s end.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

N’teren spoke to them all a few days later, giving the same news. ‘As you’re all aware, there have been some heavy losses in the Wings over the past few months. On a happier note, a few riders have retired as well, so there are going to be some vacancies. R’feem in “C” Wing has had the good fortune to have a couple of his riders transfer to “A” Wing, as has V’dul in “D” Wing. Sh’viel in “B” Wing is also after some replacements.’

D’gar glanced at S’brin there. Both P’rel and B’rol had been in ‘B’ Wing.

‘So we’ll be having assessments tomorrow. I’ll be asking a few from Suderoth’s clutch to join, as there aren’t enough of you left from Kadoth’s and Loranth’s to fill all the spaces and leave them with some choice. Good luck, everyone.’

Later that night they had a discussion. ‘Suderoth’s lot have only been on firestone deliveries a couple of months,’ T’kes said. ‘If they get in and we don’t it’ll look really bad on us.’

‘Well, you got stained purple last time, so you need to dodge faster.’ S’brin was brushing down his wherhide gear. The firestone dust became ingrained in the seams and made it look dirty.

‘I reckon we’re in with a chance.’ Neither D’gar nor S’brin had been in trouble for a while. ‘If we fly as well as we did last time…’

‘And don’t get too many stupid questions,’ J’rud added.

‘Then we’ll be fine.’ S’brin smiled.

The flying exercises were much the same as they’d been previously, except that D’gar got to work with S’brin and K’dis. All of them dodged the fake ‘Thread' successfully and flamed everything that came their way. Afterwards, while they waited in line for the questions, J’rud confirmed that he and T’kes were also happy with how they’d flown.

When he was called forward, D’gar took a deep breath. He answered all the straightforward questions posed by V’dul and Sh’viel. Evidently it was R’feem’s turn this time to ask the difficult ones.

‘So, where do you see yourself in five Turns?’ R’feem asked, almost wearily.

D’gar thought about repeating M’rell’s answer, because it was true. Then he thought of something better. ‘Looking forward to the end of the Pass, hopefully.’

R’feem gave a small smile. ‘I reckon we’re all doing that. You’re a friend of M’rell’s aren’t you?’

He nodded. ‘Me and S’brin both are.’

‘He’s been trying to persuade me you aren’t really troublemakers. If I take you on, can I trust you not to be disruptive and to obey orders? Because once you’re out of here, the stakes can be somewhat higher than a sevenday on midden duty.’

D’gar looked him in the eye. ‘I know, sir. Our friend B’rol died recently.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember.’

He must have seen so many come and go it wouldn’t always be easy to put names to faces. ‘You can trust me. Both of us, although S’brin would say the same.’

‘You two are weyrmates?’

‘Once we get a weyr.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Some Wingleaders didn’t like to have weyrmates in the same Wing, because of the disruption if one died. Too late now, though.

‘You flew well together today. Your dragons are well-matched,’ R’feem said. ‘Right, that’s all. Thank you.’

D’gar left, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Although he’d been asked the all-important question this time, he didn’t feel he’d answered as he should have done. And he shouldn’t have said about being with S’brin either.

‘What’s up?’ S’brin always knew when he was feeling down.

‘Don’t feel as if I did enough.’

‘Listen, if they don’t take us, it’s their loss. No-one could fault the way Herebeth or Zemianth flew.’

‘R’feem said that. He said they flew well together.’

‘There you go then. What are you worried about?’

‘I just am.’

He couldn’t each much at dinner, even though it was tasty. The kitchens always put on a special effort when weyrlings were due to graduate, something like a mini Hatching feast. Agarra had made some of her special roasted herdbeast pies, decorated on the top with little pastry cut outs of dragons. He could see her waiting over by the kitchen doorway as the meal finished and everyone waited expectantly.

‘This evening we’ll be welcoming another twelve new riders into the Wings,’ T’ron said. ‘I’m grateful to the Wingleaders who have given such a solid foundation to those riders I’ve recently invited to join my own Wing. Let’s hope their replacements do as well. Wingleaders, please make your choices.’

Sh’viel went first. D’gar felt his palms sweating. The thought of joining a Wing was frightening, yes, but being left behind again would be so much worse. He heard the Wingleader’s footsteps as he walked behind the weyrlings table, but didn’t dare turn. They passed him by and stopped behind one of Suderoth’s young bronzes. Sorath was the dragon, he recalled, a fine looking pale bronze. The lad was nothing special to look at, with untidy dark brown hair and teeth that stuck out a bit.

‘The Weyrleader has allowed me to ride with you.’

They were close enough for him to hear the words. The lad got up, beaming; the first of his clutch to be chosen. Mind you, there were no bronzes left in either of the older clutches. D’gar supposed he was looking for a replacement for P’rel. Hopefully this one would last longer. That was a little cynical, he supposed, but really, who could blame him.

He stopped three times more, firstly to pick K’dis. D’gar cheered heartily along with the rest of his clutchmates. He and Cegorth deserved it; they shouldn’t have been left behind the last time. Then he picked J’ral. He’d always kept himself to himself and didn’t mix much, but as a smaller blue, Beylalth could almost turn as fast as a green. Finally, he tapped V’lon, from Suderoth’s clutch. All four of them went up to ‘B’ Wing’s table, a spring in their step as the weyrfolk applauded.

‘Fingers crossed,’ S’brin hissed, next to him, as R’feem stood.

‘Everything crossed.’ D’gar hardly dared to breathe. When R’feem stopped behind his seat and he felt the tap on his right shoulder he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face. He hardly even heard the words. Across the dining hall, Agarra let out a cheer, the rest of the kitchen crew joining in to bang wooden spoons against tin plates in appreciation. He stood and waited for R’feem to make his other choices. Please let him pick S’brin, he thought, as the Wingleader moved along to tap T’kes. Well, as they went in descending colour order, he’d obviously go for a blue next. D’gar glanced down at S’brin, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared at the table, not moving. J’rud, two places further along was his third choice, then, finally he stood behind S’brin and said the traditional words. S’brin sprang to his feet, a look of triumph on his face. They followed R’feem back to ‘C’ Wing’s table, where M’rell was already making space next to him and patting the bench. ‘Well done, you two.’

He didn’t even notice who was picked by V’dul, as I’grast and N’rir passed around small cups of spirits for a toast to their new riders. I’grast patted S’brin on the back. ‘Good to have you with us.’

D’gar remembered that his dragon had flown Zemianth twice so far and felt a stab of dismay. But then S’brin turned to him and pulled him close. ‘Can’t wait to get you alone in our weyr so we can celebrate properly.’

‘We don’t have a weyr yet.’

‘We will, this time tomorrow. Only one more night in the barracks!’

_We’ve done it, Herebeth. We’re in a Wing. We’ll have our own weyr._

_I look forward to it. We will flame Thread together._ His dragon’s happiness merged with and enhanced his own and once he’d had a few refills of the fiery spirit, he knew this was the best moment of his life so far.


	10. Joining 'C' Wing

‘So, here we are.’ D’gar stood on the ledge of his - and S’brin’s - weyr in the east face of the Bowl. It had been a hectic morning, moving stuff from the barracks, then standing in line and waiting for Naraina, the Headwoman, to assign weyrs, but they were finally here.

‘Whoever had this weyr before didn’t clean it very often.’ S’brin’s voice echoed from beyond the curtain, which he’d pulled back to air the place. ‘The necessary is pretty disgusting. You’ll need to hold your breath if you have to use it.’

‘I’ll get some cleaning stuff later. Otherwise it’ll stink us out once we draw that curtain.’ S’brin came forward and joined him. ‘We were lucky to get a double, though.’

Herebeth kept turning around on the larger of the two dragons couches. _What’s wrong?_ he asked his dragon.

_It is gritty._

_I’ll sweep it later, all right._

Herebeth flicked his tail. _I think Zemianth has the better couch._

_You wanted this one, remember?_

‘What’s up?’ S’brin asked.

‘Herebeth’s complaining about his couch.’

S’brin rolled his eyes. ‘That dragon is too fussy. He’s got a nice new weyr with a great view and a very sexy green dragon to share it with.’ He evidently spoke to Zemianth. ‘She doesn’t want to swap. She likes it where she is.’

Although dragons’ expressions didn’t change very much - their eyes revealed their emotional state - D’gar thought that Zemianth looked slightly smug. He wondered if it would have been better to get separate weyrs for their sake, but S’brin had jumped in when he heard there was a double going spare before they’d had a chance to discuss it. While he was perfectly at ease with the living situation, it bothered him that Herebeth might not be so happy. ‘Let’s finish putting stuff away. We need to meet the others in the dining hall soon.’ The previous evening was a bit of a blur. Various riders had introduced themselves, but he’d never been the best at remembering names. Once he’d seen them with their dragons it would help.

‘Y’min seemed like a decent sort, didn’t he?’

‘Which one was he?’

‘Old blue rider. He was the one sitting next to M’rell last night.’

‘Ah.’ D’gar was none the wiser.

’T’chol as well. He helps run the greens’ meetings. I’ve spoken to him a few times before.’ S’brin leaned against Zemianth. ‘I reckon we’ve landed up in the right Wing.’

‘Let’s hope so.’

They arrived in the dining hall at the appointed time. D’gar got himself a mug of klah and brought one back for S’brin. By the time he returned, T’kes had joined them, too.

‘How’s your weyr?’

‘Not too bad.’ D’gar set the mugs down. ‘Sorry, I’d have got you one if I’d known.’

‘No problem. Probably best not to drink too much if we’re going to be flying this afternoon.’

‘Are we? No-one told me.’

‘It’s what they usually do with new riders, to see how their dragons perform. M’rell said, last night.’

Something else he’d missed out on. ‘Oh, well. Might as well drink it. My mum always says never pass up the chance for a mug of klah or a piss.’

‘I’m sure you’ll have time for the latter before we head off. Might be best to use the necessary down here, though,’ S’brin said. ‘Ours is a bit smelly,’ he added for T’kes’s benefit.

'My weyr’s great,’ he said smugly. ‘It’s even got a couple of chairs and a desk as well as the bed. Looks like someone just moved out.’

‘They probably died,’ S’brin said.

T’kes looked slightly less happy.

‘Still, their loss is your gain.’ S’brin sipped his klah as the two Wingseconds, I’grast and N’rir came over to the table. D’gar stood and nudged S’brin to do the same.

‘Don’t worry about that, lads,’ N’rir said. ‘We’re not big on formalities in this Wing.’

‘Just so long as you do exactly as we say,’ I’grast put in. He winked as he said it and N’rir gave a short laugh. ‘I thought there were four of you.’

‘There are,’ D’gar offered. ‘Not sure where J’rud’s got to.’

‘He was getting Zurinth to carry some furniture up to his new weyr when I came down,’ T’kes said.

I’grast obviously spoke to his dragon for a few seconds. ‘Tiriorth’s going to hurry him up a bit. Get us a klah, N’rir. I’ll start off while we’re waiting.’

N’rir strolled over to the night hearth while I’grast settled himself on the other side of S’brin. ‘Glad to have you with us.’

D’gar wasn’t sure if he was talking to them all, or just to S’brin. Maybe that was just his perception and he should reserve judgement for the time being.

‘Thanks,’ S’brin said. ‘We’re all glad we made it into “C” Wing.’

‘Tiriorth’s going to be pleased he’s flying with his favourite green dragon.’ I’grast leaned closer to S’brin.

D’gar glared at him. All right, maybe he wasn’t going to give the Wingsecond the benefit of the doubt where S’brin was concerned. ‘We’re weyrmates,’ he said quickly.

I’grast regarded him for a couple of seconds. ‘Fair enough. Although his dragon seems to prefer bronzes.’

‘Mating flights don’t count,’ D’gar said, keeping his voice steady. He was aware of T’kes and S’brin both watching him. He should be careful; it would be stupid to get off on the wrong foot with I’grast straight away. He didn’t want to end up being labelled the awkward sod of ‘C’ Wing.

‘Of course not.’ I’grast smiled. ‘Now, where was I? Ah, yes. What we’ll be doing this afternoon is just seeing how your dragons perform and where’s best to slot them in. Although you’ve all been on deliveries, riding Fall is something else entirely. In “C” Wing we never expect any weyrlings to fly a full Fall straight away, whatever colour dragon you might ride. One of you will be flying alongside myself or N’rir for half of the Fall, getting you used to conditions up there. We’ll let you flame some Thread and once we’re sure you can cope, we’ll assign you Wing positions. How’s that sound?’

It sounded very sensible, D’gar thought. Not all of the Wings inducted new riders so carefully. It was probably the reason why ‘C’ Wing lost fewer newcomers to injury or death. ‘Fine,’ he said.

N’rir came back with the klah. ‘Scared them off yet?’ he asked, setting down the mugs.

‘No, I was just giving them an idea of what we’ll be doing.’

J’rud arrived at that point. ‘Sorry if I’m late,’ he said. ‘Zurinth and I were having a bit of bother with a couch.’

‘A couch, eh?’ I’grast said. ‘Sounds like your weyr’s going to be a fun place. Any chance of an invite some time?’

D’gar wondered if he flirted like that with all the greens.

‘I’ve a few ideas to make it more comfortable,’ J’rud said, including everyone. ‘You know, there’s lots of furniture going spare in the stores.’

‘Good,’ S’brin said. ‘We might pick some up later on. Our weyr’s got nothing in it except the bed and a clothes chest.’

I’grast nudged N’rir. ‘These two are weyrmates. Expect you’ll be getting some use from that bed now you’re out of the barracks.’

S’brin evidently decided to play along. ‘You can bet on that.’ He cuddled up next to D’gar.

‘Right,’ N’rir said, bringing the conversation back to the business in hand. ‘If you want to get ready, we’ll meet back down here for some flying. Full kit, as if it was a proper Fall.’

As D’gar adjusted Herebeth’s fighting straps he spoke to S’brin. ‘Not sure I like that I’grast.’

‘He’s harmless, don’t worry. All talk and no action. You’d best watch out for A’kindry, though.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Another green. Him and V'chal are competing to see how many of the Wing they can sleep with.’

‘Great. You’d best point him out.’ D’gar pulled on his wherhide trousers. ‘Let’s hope we don’t hang around down there too long, or we’ll be sweltering in all this stuff.’

‘I’m looking forward to this. Let’s show ‘em what we can do, eh girl?’ S’brin patted Zemianth’s neck.

They weren’t the last to arrive, which was good. A couple of other riders were also ready to fly; one each of a brown, blue and a green.

_Who are they?_ he asked Herebeth.

_Brandith, Wasuth and Famenth._

He was none the wiser as to the rider’s names, but at least he’d seen their dragons for reference. Brandith was a ruddy brown; like a fired clay pot. Wasuth’s blue hide matched the summer sky, while Famenth was as dark as the greens Agarra always insisted were good for him to eat. The riders seemed at ease with each other as they waited for T’kes to arrive. J’rud had made up for his earlier delay by not being late this time around.

I’grast walked over. ‘We’re going to match you four with these dragons for comparison. As you’re probably aware, there are differences in the way dragons fly that isn’t just down to size and colour.’ He looked at Herebeth. ‘With those stubby wings, he’s probably quicker on the turns than some of the other browns. And Zemianth’s small for a green so she’ll be perfect for chasing down Thread others would find hard to follow. Your fellow,’ he gestured towards Neyrenth, ‘looks like he’ll be a speedy one.’

T’kes nodded enthusiastically. ‘He is.’

‘And this other green…?’

‘Zurinth,’ J’rud supplied.

‘That’s going to confuse me. Two greens beginning with Z, especially as we already have Zerlath. R’feem should have checked before picking you. Might have to swap you out with one of the other Wings.’

J’rud’s face fell, then I’grast slapped his back. ‘Only joking.’

‘Right, are we about ready?’ N’rir called.

‘I reckon so. Mount up, lads. Once we’re airborne, one of our dragons will let yours know what we’ll be doing.’

It was exciting, heading off from the Weyr as part of a Wing for the first time, even if it was only a few of them. Herebeth flew alongside Brandith as they warmed up, then when he was instructed, followed the other dragon through a series of ever more complex manoeuvres.

_This is much more fun than weyrling drills,_ Herebeth said. _Brandith tells me I fly well._ D’gar’s stomach lurched as they went into a corkscrew spiral; nowhere near as tight as a blue or a green could manage, but still dizzying.

After the aerobatics, they formed up in a V, then practised blinking _between_ as if dodging Thread, making sure they returned at the same distance from the dragon to either side. It was something they’d practised often in the weyrling drills. Herebeth had never found any problem judging where other dragons would be, but Neyrenth, D’gar noticed, definitely did, having to adjust his speed constantly to avoid getting too close. Zemianth and Zurinth managed well too. Finally, they went through position changes within a formation, before returning to the Weyr.

After removing straps from the dragons, the riders all went back inside the dining hall. D’gar noticed a few similar groups dotted around at the tables. Evidently all the Wingseconds were trying out their new pairs.

‘That went well,’ N’rir said. ‘Now, as you probably know, it’s Fall tomorrow. Just a short one over Southern Boll and the Weavercrafthall, so none of you will be up for more than an hour. I’ll have D’gar with me for the first part, then J’rud. I’grast will have T’kes first, followed by S’brin. We’ll talk through how it went afterwards.’

I’grast nodded. ‘Any questions?’

No one had any.

‘Then we’ll let you carry on sorting out your weyrs and see you all at dinner, so you can get to know everyone. No drinking tonight. Everyone needs a clear head for the morning, all right?’

‘That wasn’t too bad,’ S’brin said when they were back in their weyr. ‘I reckon we’ll be joining the Wing properly after tomorrow, once we’ve shown ‘em what we can do.’

D’gar was more cautious. ‘I think it’s a good idea to keep us out of the thick of it for a couple of Falls.’

‘Yes, but we’ve been up there before, on deliveries. Plus N’teren took us up a few times so the dragons could flame real Thread. It’s not going to be that different.’

‘It is. Statistics prove that. More new pairs get killed in the first few months in a Wing than weyrlings ever do on deliveries. Probably because they get complacent and think they know what they’re doing.’ Like you, he didn’t add. S’brin could sometimes be reckless; he’d jump in without really thinking. Hopefully, the Wingseconds wouldn’t get taken in by his over-confidence.

‘Ah well, at least we’re out of the barracks. No more M’nan nagging us. And we’ve got this nice, comfortable bed in the privacy of our own weyr. Shall we give it a try before dinner?’ He gave D’gar that smile he could never resist.

‘Yeah. Why not.’

When they eventually returned to the dining hall, a few riders were already seated around ‘C’ Wing’s table. D’gar recognised M’rell, of course and Brandith’s rider from earlier on. S’brin and J’rud went over to join a small group of green riders. T’kes hovered uncertainly.

‘Come and sit with us,’ D’gar said.

‘Is this end of the table for browns only?’ he asked, uncertainly.

‘No,’ M’rell assured him. ‘We do often sit in colour groupings but it’s not compulsory. Anyway, none of the other blues are here at the moment. If you’d prefer gossip and scandal, go and sit with the greens.’

T’kes sat on the bench next to D’gar. ‘This is fine. I just want to get to know folk. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to names last night.’

‘Me neither,’ D’gar admitted.

‘Well, this is A’ren,’ M’rell gestured to the sandy-haired young man next to him. ‘Brandith’s rider.’

D’gar reckoned he was in his mid-twenties. ‘Hello. I enjoyed flying with you earlier today. Brandith’s a fine dragon.’ It never hurt to be polite.

A’ren gave a shy smile. ‘Thanks. You’re a friend of M’rell’s?’

‘Yes, although not from the same clutch.’

‘No, he’s one of Kadoth’s,’ M’rell offered. ‘We were in the barracks together for a couple of Turns, though. Bet you’re glad to have your own weyr at last.’

There were whoops of laughter from the green group.

‘Wonder who they’re talking about now?’ M’rell continued. He nudged D’gar. ‘See that one on S’brin’s right. Watch him. He’ll try it on with you.’

‘Is that A’kindry?’

M’rell smiled. ‘You’ve already heard, then.’

’S’brin warned me about him.’ D’gar glanced over. ‘Mind you, he’s not bad looking.’ If Herebeth decided to chase A’kindry’s dragon, he’d not be averse to the idea. He knew that quite a few Wing riders had casual sex with each other, even when the dragons weren’t involved. It was accepted behaviour, particularly after Fall, when everyone was in high spirits. ‘Have you had him?’ he asked M’rell.

He laughed. ‘No. Rina wouldn’t like it. Anyway, you know I prefer girls, when the dragons aren’t involved.’

A couple more riders joined them. D’gar could see from their shoulder knots that they rode blues.

‘Hey, a new blue to join us,’ the younger one said, sitting next to T’kes. ‘I’m R’xel, Lath’s rider.’

T’kes smiled. ‘Pleased to meet you. T’kes of blue Neyrenth.’

D’gar introduced himself as the other rider, an older man with a world-weary expression, slid in at the other side of the table.

‘That’s M’ta,’ R’xel said. ‘He probably won’t talk to you until you’ve been with us for a few months.’

M’ta put his feet up along the bench. ‘No offence, lads,’ he said. ‘I’m not good on names and sometimes it’s barely worth learning them. I’ve been in the Wings for twenty-two Turns now and I’ve seen a fair few come and go.’

It was a common attitude among older riders. D’gar could see his point, but it wasn’t very encouraging to know he was regarded as expendable. M’ta had a long-healed score on his left cheek, but seemed otherwise unharmed by his Turns of fighting Thread. D’gar wondered how many of his clutchmates were still alive.

As the evening wore on, he met more of ‘C’ Wing. Some he already knew, like G’reden, who’d graduated at the same time as M’rell. Then there was T’garrin, always willing to take a wager on anything. He’d probably be giving odds on how long the new members of the Wing were expected to survive. V’chal, of course, he’d encountered before. He was sitting next to a tall, slim green rider, who had a ringing laugh. The green end of the table was definitely the noisiest, he noticed. S’brin seemed to have made some friends already. They’d have to compare notes later.

As was customary, R’feem sat at the head of the table, with his Wingseconds on either side. D’gar hadn’t spoken to him since the assessment day, apart from the token welcome to the Wing the previous evening. It felt strange, being on this table surrounded - mostly - by strangers. Moving up from being a candidate to a weyrling had been far less of a change. He’d grown up with all the others who’d Impressed. Everyone here seemed much older, even though he knew M’rell was just a Turn his senior and some of the Wing riders were probably only in their twenties. He ate his meal, watching rather than talking. It was interesting to see who were friends and who seemed to ignore each other. Down at the green end of the table - although there was a partial mix between the greens and blues - the loud chatter and occasional laughter continued.

N’rir must have noticed him watching. ‘Noisy lot, aren’t they?’

‘They seem to be having a good time.’

‘They always do. It wouldn’t be a decent party without a few greens stirring the pot. See H’fra there…’ he pointed out the tall rider next to V’chal. ‘He does a wicked impression of Mardra. Well, he does all the queen riders, when he’s had a few drinks. His latest one’s Mardra and Naraina having an argument.’

D’gar thought that sounded like fun.

‘You want to go and join your weyrmate, you’re free to move,’ N’rir said.

‘No, I’m fine here.’ It might seem rude to leave now. Besides, he’d feel awkward, butting in on them now they were in full swing. He might sit with S’brin from the start of the meal tomorrow and learn a bit more about who was who. For tonight, he’d be content to sit, watch and try to remember the names of those he’d already met.

‘That was a good evening,’ S’brin said later, as the dragons dropped them off.

Herebeth was grumbling again. _It was better when you could walk to and from places._

_What’s up with you? I thought you’d like having a weyr of your own. You can watch what’s going on from up here._

_Zemianth keeps disturbing me. She moves around a lot._

‘Sorry, what was that? I was just talking to Herebeth.’

‘I said it was a good evening. Well, our end of the table, it was.’

‘I thought that too. Can I sit with you tomorrow?’

‘Sure. They’d love to get to know you better. Especially A’kindry.’

‘Aren’t you bothered by that?’

S’brin shrugged. ‘Might be fun watching him try. He’s been after M’rell for a couple of months now.’

‘M’rell told me.’ D’gar felt suddenly tired. He hadn’t done a lot more than in any normal day but the whole newness of being with ‘C” Wing was exhausting in itself. ‘I suppose we should get to bed.’ The Fall was predicted to start early in the morning. N’rir had told him to be ready at least an hour ahead, so that he’d have plenty of time for Herebeth to chew and digest sufficient firestone.

‘Sounds like a good idea.’ S’brin started taking his clothes off.

D’gar realised that this was the first time they’d actually be sharing a bed all night. In the barracks, they’d occasionally cuddled together as far as the narrow beds permitted, but it hadn’t been comfortable and sleeping together wasn’t encouraged. The plant room had always been where they’d gone for some privacy.

‘What are you thinking about now?’ S’brin had already got into the bed.

‘This is the first night we’ll actually be sleeping together, in the same bed.’

He grinned. ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’

As it happened, S’brin slept very well, once they’d settled down. D’gar knew that because he listened to his soft breathing - and occasional snores - for most of the night. Try as he might, despite feeling tired, he couldn’t drop off. For one thing, the sounds in the weyr were very different to what he’d been used to in the barracks; far too quiet. For another, his mind didn’t turn off. He kept thinking about the forthcoming Fall and whether he and Herebeth would do as well as the other riders who’d just joined the Wings. Logic told him that no one expected very much of new wingriders, but that didn’t stop him worrying about mistakes he might make or the possibility of doing something N’rir would find stupid. Then there were Herebeth’s complaints. What if he never got used to sharing a weyr with Zemianth? Might D’gar have to move out to keep his dragon happy? If he did move out, would S’brin think it was because he didn’t love him anymore? The questions kept on, one leading to another. It seemed a very long time until the first grey sliver of daylight became visible beneath the curtain dividing the sleeping chamber from the dragons’ couches. He supposed he must have dropped off a few times, although he still felt sleepy. His stomach wasn’t too good, either. It was the usual symptom when he was nervous about something and he had a lot to worry about this morning. Getting hit by Thread was the least of it, although that would be particularly embarrassing on your first ever Fall as part of a proper Wing.

‘Hey, S’brin,’ he nudged his still-sleeping weyrmate. ‘Wake up. We’ve got to start getting ready soon.’

‘What? Huh?’ S’brin slowly uncurled, yawning and rubbing his eyes. ‘What’s the hurry?’

‘It’s Fall this morning. N’rir said to be ready early on.’

‘Maybe for you. I’m not in the air until half way through.’

He’d forgotten that. ‘You’ll need to get Zemianth chewing her firestone early.’ Young dragons often took longer to load up with sufficient firestone for a Fall, as opposed to the small quantity they used for training drills.

‘All right, then. He sat up and stretched. ‘I wonder if there’ll be anything to eat yet?’

‘I expect so. Riders will want klah, at the very least.’ He’d been told it was good to eat something before Fall; you’d need the energy food provided. The way his stomach felt, he didn’t think he’d be able to manage much, although a mug of klah with plenty of sweetener would go down well.

‘Bed’s nice and comfortable. Room to move, too, not like in the barracks.’

‘Hmm.’ D’gar opened the clothes chest. Was it worth putting on a clean shirt before Fall? Probably not. He’d save it for after they’d been in the baths later.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Er, not bad. Your snoring kept me awake for half the night.’

‘I don’t snore.’

‘Much.’ _Herebeth?_ he queried, having felt a stirring of his dragon’s waking mind. _We need to be ready for Fall this morning._

_We will flame Thread together today._

He sounded happier than he had the previous night. That was good.

‘Zemianth’s looking forward to fighting Thread properly.’ S’brin pulled his trousers on.

‘Herebeth too.’

‘She said he’s in a better temper this morning. What’s been up with him?’

‘I don’t think he enjoyed the disruption of moving.’ D’gar finished dressing. ‘Right, better go and put his straps on.’

They got down to the Bowl in plenty of time. D’gar had opted to tuck his wherhide gear into the straps for now. It was a warm morning, even so early and he’d soon be too hot if he put it on right away. T’kes was already there. They found him helping himself to klah and sweet rolls in the dining hall. A few other riders had also beaten the rush and were busily eating breakfast. A couple of the weyrlings from Suderoth’s clutch waved at them as they went to their new Wing table to eat.

D’gar chewed on a sweet roll. It was delicious, as usual, but his mouth was dry. He washed down small bites with klah and hoped his stomach would settle once he had something to concentrate on.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ T’kes asked.

‘Not much.’ He didn’t want to admit to feeling nervous. ‘I’ll have something later on. We’re on first shift, after all.’ They’d only be in the air for a little over an hour.

‘You lot are keen.’ I’grast strolled in together with N’rir.

‘It’s good to see we don’t have to keep waking up this lot like we did the last ones.’ N’rir sat down. ‘Get us some klah,’ he called to I’grast. ‘We’ll have something to eat, then you can start your dragons chewing firestone. You’ll need to take a spare sack up with you in case they need a top up, but they’ll be used to hefting firestone, won’t they?’

T’kes nodded over a mouthful of food. ‘We’ve been on deliveries forever,’ he said at last.

N’rir sat back. ‘You’ll have been used to avoiding Thread all this time. That’s how it should be on deliveries. But from now on, you’re actively looking for it and once you - or your dragon - spots it, you destroy the stuff. Main thing you need to concentrate on at first is accuracy. A good, clean flame that crisps the whole strand or clump. You don’t want any little stray pieces falling down on anyone or to the ground.’

N’teren had told them much the same in his lectures, but there was an immediacy to N’rir’s instructions. D’gar listened carefully.

As N’rir continued, J’rud arrived, looking a little flustered. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said.

‘You’re not,’ N’rir told him. ‘The rest are just early. Don’t make a habit of it, though.’

D’gar made a mental note to get Herebeth to bespeak Zurinth in future. J’rud was never the earliest riser in the barracks and now that he didn’t have all that noise and bustle around, might sleep in more often.

‘Now, you three with the smaller dragons are going to have to learn to judge what size clump they can comfortably deal with. Bigger clumps, you want to leave for a brown or a bronze.’

‘How do we know what size they can cope with?’ T’kes asked.

‘That’s one of the things we’ll find out today.’

I’grast arrived back with klah at that point. ‘You want me to fetch you breakfast, too?’

‘Unless you want to take over talking to these lads.’ N’rir gave him a smile.

‘I’ll get breakfast, then. Two eggs?’

‘Please. Now where was I? Ah, yes. I’grast and me have a fair idea of what each colour can cope with, but there are always individual variations, so today we’ll be sending you after what we think you can flame comfortably. Your dragon will soon get the idea of what he or she can manage, too. Most of the time, they know by instinct. The most important piece of advice I can give you is to trust your dragon. That way, you won’t go far wrong.’

The instruction ceased as the two Wingseconds tucked in to their breakfasts. D’gar finished his sweet roll and the klah, then sat quietly. He wanted to be in the air, with Herebeth. Anything but this waiting around. It had never felt quite as tense on deliveries, even before the orders began to come in. Maybe once he’d got through a few Falls, he’d feel different. At least, he hoped he would. The idea he might go through this stomach-churning apprehension every couple of days for the next few Turns wasn’t a pleasant thought. No one else seemed that bothered at all.

At last, they made their way out to the Bowl. There were quite a few dragons milling around out there now. N’rir left him feeding Herebeth chunks of firestone while he went off to speak with R’feem. Listening to Herebeth grinding the rock was oddly soothing and his dragon’s excitement at the prospect of flying Thread bled over into his own mind, making him feel more confident they’d be able to do a good job. All around him, other riders were starting to do the same, making adjustments to straps as their dragons crunched or chatting with their wingmates. He occupied himself by trying to calculate how much firestone a Wing would use during a Fall like todays. That helped to calm his mind as well.

Eventually, N’rir came back. ‘He’s had all of that sack? Excellent. That’d be about the same as Jalolth can manage at a time and they look similar in size. You can get your wherhide on now. It won’t be too long until we’re off.’ He glanced across at the rest of the Wing. ‘It’s probably your last chance to use the necessary for a while, so if you need to, get off there first.’

D’gar hadn’t even thought about that. On deliveries, there were always quiet times waiting around at the firestone dump, when you were able to relieve yourself. In a Wing, that wouldn’t be the case. He took the opportunity to offload some of the klah he’d drunk. Quite a few of the riders were lined up at the communal trough, doing the same.

When he got back, most were getting on board their dragons. He followed suit once he’d put all of his flying gear on, fastening the straps as he had so many times prior to drills or deliveries.

_Jalolth’s rider asks if we are ready._

_Tell him yes._

_He asks me to stay on his right and follow his moves._ Herebeth’s thoughts were businesslike and calm. It helped D’gar to steady himself. This was what Herebeth had hatched to do, after all.

He watched carefully for the signals to take off, then, at last, ‘C’ Wing was airborne, the Weyr shrinking in size as they ascended.

_Jalolth gives me the visual._ Herebeth shared it with D’gar. The coast of Southern Boll, cloudless skies and a sparkling sea. He watched for the signal again and then went _between_ with the rest of the Wing.

A light breeze made white tipped wavelets break just offshore. Down below there were cliffs, then grassland, which turned to a patchwork of colours and textures as fine as anything created at the Weavercrafthall. Lots of crops to protect down there.

He glanced up. There were three Wings above them, circling as they waited for the first glimpse of leading edge. Three below, too, with a glimpse of gold as the Queens’ Wing skimmed close to the ground. Mardra, on board Loranth, tested her flamethrower, a gout of brilliant orange erupting from the nozzle.

_Once leading edge is in sight, Jaloth tells us to stay with him. We are not to attack Thread until he tells us, but we should dodge if any comes close._

_Good. Make sure you dodge well._

_I always do._ Herebeth adjusted his speed to keep the same distance from Jalolth, whose natural pace seemed to be marginally slower than his own. D’gar had never seen the Wings like this, spread out in their holding patterns as they waited to begin battle. It was a fine sight, made all the better for being such a clear day. Visibility was superb, so that when they followed Jalolth in a turn, the ominous greyness on the horizon could only be one thing. Thread, falling far out at sea right now, but coming nearer by the second.

D’gar saw the Wing seamlessly move into its Threadfighting formation; an inverted V that would cut a wide swathe across the corridor. Other Wings peeled off to station themselves at their own starting positions. The grey curtain closed in. It was similar to a bank of dark cloud, yet no cloud ever moved so fast. As it neared, the sunlight caught individual strands of Thread, making it glitter with a deadly intensity. Beautiful, yet lethal.

_We have leading edge,_ Herebeth announced. High above them, dragons flamed, searing the first Threads as they crossed the boundary between sea and land.

_It is falling thickly today, Jalolth says._

D’gar watched Thread descending. The Wings on the upper levels cleared a decent amount as it fell, but some inevitably got through. As it dropped towards them, he felt a shiver go down his spine and had to fight against Herebeth’s innate desire to chase it and burn it. _We must wait,_ he said. _We have to do as we’re told._

_Jalolth tells us to take this next clump._

It was coming down to their right. The weyrling drills came to mind. Never flame too close to another dragon. Check your airspace. Herebeth banked out of line, then belched a fierce gout of flame straight at the falling clump. The satisfaction of watching it dissolve into black, stinking char was immense. Herebeth’s joy matched D’gar’s own. He tamped it down and came back to his former position, watching Jalolth take another clump out with a carefully measured blast that used just enough flame, conserving his supply of firestone.

_To our left._ Herebeth moved aside, then turned almost on a wingtip to sear another tangle of Thread. Pieces of still-burning char hit D’gar in the face, stinging slightly from the heat. Now the tidy formation had gone as dragons moved in and out of line, blinking _between_ when necessary to avoid Thread that blew towards them, stirred by the beat of so many wings.

D’gar lost track of time, living only in the moment as a dragon did. There was so much to take in at once. Thread, of course and where it fell in relation to your dragon. Jalolth and N’rir were doing most of the work; assessing what was close enough for either he or Herebeth to flame, or which was nearer to the next dragons in the line. They must be relaying information to each other all the time, he realised. He’d always thought of a Wing formation as being like a knife, cutting through falling Thread in a more or less straight line, but it wasn’t like that at all. Unlike rain, it didn’t come down in even sheets, but in constantly changing variables of size and intensity. The dragons had to be flexible to try and catch it before it fell too far below them. This meant sometimes rising to meet it, others diving to chase it, bearing in mind not to infringe on the airspace of the lower levels. It was a complex and ever-changing pattern, far from the ordered drills they’d practised, yet using many of the same moves. D’gar felt as if he was trying to look everywhere at once; yes, you had to pay attention to the Thread your dragon was chasing, but you also needed to be aware of all the other dragons in the sky and clumps, tangles or individual strands that might be blown your way. Several times Herebeth spotted Thread he’d not even seen.

His admiration for his dragon had never been so strong. Herebeth was working hard at keeping them both safe and destroying the Thread he was directed to take out. The fighting straps dug into D’gar’s legs as he was thrown one way and then another by his dragon’s quick dodges and tight turns. The taste of char was bitter in his mouth and there seemed to be no time to take a swig of the water in his flask, hung on the neck strap.

_More firestone,_ Herebeth demanded.

He grabbed a chunk from the bag. _Here._

Herebeth turned his neck and opened his mouth as D’gar threw it. The throw wasn’t perfect, but his dragon managed to catch it. That move would take some practice to get right. He judged the next piece better. Herebeth crunched quickly and swallowed it down. _Jalolth tells us to go for this clump._ He visualised it at the same time as he spoke the words into D’gar’s mind, so that he could see where they were aiming for. The turn was less of a lurch and he had time to lean into it rather than getting pulled after. That was surely how it was meant to be done, dragon and rider working as one against a mindless, destructive foe.

He fed almost the whole sack to Herebeth as they continued to chase Thread across the fields and farm buildings far below. It began to feel almost automatic, the same way that flying together had when they first mastered that skill.

_Jalolth asks if we are almost out of firestone._

 _Yes. Yes, we are._ He should have mentioned that to N’rir before. Soon, the weyrlings would be bringing replacement sacks and it was the Wingseconds who co-ordinated and sent back the orders.

_Then he says it is time for us to return to the Weyr._

_No. It can’t be._ It felt as if they had only been in the air for a short while. 

_It is almost the half way point, he reminds us. Zurinth is waiting her turn._

He felt annoyed at having to leave now that they were just starting to get into the rhythm of it, but it was only fair that J’rud got the same chance to learn in relative safety. _Tell him we will leave now._

A couple of seconds later N’rir glanced over and signalled that he’d understood. D’gar visualised the Star Stones over Fort Weyr and the blackness of _between_ replaced the blue skies, the turmoil of the battle over Southern Boll. It was only as they descended into the Bowl that he realised how weary he felt; even worse than after some of the gruelling exercise schedules S’brin was always putting them through. Everything ached; he knew he’d have bruises from where the straps had dug into his legs. _Are you tired, Herebeth?_ he asked, wondering if his dragon felt the same. 

_A little. I would like to soak my wings in cool water and swim for a while._

They landed close to the two greens. J’rud and S’brin were ready to leave. 

‘How was it?’ S’brin shouted across to him. 

‘Really good. We flamed tons of Thread.’ 

‘See you later, then. We’ve got the visual now. Need to go.’ He waved as Zemianth launched herself into the air, closely followed by Zurinth. 

Neyrenth landed close by. ‘That was amazing,’ T’kes called. ‘How about you?’ 

‘Yeah. Good.’ He slid down carefully, unsure if his legs would hold him. Leaning against Herebeth’s shoulder helped. T’kes looked similarly unstable, which was reassuring. ‘I never realised fighting Thread was so tiring.’ 

‘Me neither. I’ll be glad to have a soak, won’t you?’ 

D’gar nodded as he began unfastening Herebeth’s straps, so that he could go and swim. N’teren’s words came back again. ‘Always look after your dragon first.’ So true and so right. Herebeth had done a brilliant job today. At least now he knew that they could fight Thread successfully as a pair. 


	11. First Fall

_Taronenth is looking very pretty._

D’gar sighed. Herebeth was noticing green dragons again. Trouble was, Zemianth had only recently risen - and been caught by Tiriorth, which he wasn’t pleased about - so he was setting his sights on other dragons in the Wing. Over the past few days, that had happened to be P’goll’s Taronenth. _Are you going to chase her?_

Herebeth gave him the mental draconic equivalent of a shrug, from which he assumed he wasn’t going to be given any more notice that he had the first time. It was Fall again tomorrow; his fourth since joining ‘C’ Wing and the first which he was going to be riding ‘properly’ without supervision.

N’rir had told him just after the last one that he’d be taking his place in the Wing from now on. ‘It’s only going to be around three hours, so not a bad one for your first time solo.’

Now, as if he didn’t have enough to worry about, Herebeth was starting to get the male dragon’s equivalent of proddy. Thankfully, unlike a green, it didn’t affect his own moods.

‘What’s up?’ S’brin asked. ‘You’re thinking too much again.’

‘Herebeth’s eyeing up Taronenth.’

S’brin chuckled. ‘Fat chance he has there.’

‘Why?’

‘She’s one of the hardest dragons in the Weyr to catch. Rumour has it P’goll doesn’t much like it either.’

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. P’goll had to be at least fifty, bald and missing a few teeth.

‘Still, at least he’ll get some practice in. She’s got all the tricky moves. Nearly always gets flown by a blue. Nothing else can get close, the way she spins on a wingtip. Pity he didn’t get interested in Zemianth, though.’

Herebeth and Zemianth seemed to have settled to a grudging acceptance that they would be sharing a weyr, so that was something at least. But as far as mates went, she definitely preferred the Wingsecond’s bronze. S’brin seemed to get on a bit too well with his rider, too. ‘I didn’t see you complaining when Tiriorth caught her again.’

‘I’grast’s all right. Bit old, but he’s still got what it takes.’ S’brin shrugged. ‘She has a good time, so do I. It’s the best we can hope for in a mating flight.’

Which didn’t really do anything to stop D’gar feeling inadequate. Not that they had any problems in bed normally, just that it would be a bonus if their dragons gave them the opportunity to be together in a flight.

S’brin obviously picked up on his despondency. ‘Don’t worry about it. I look on mating flights as a bit of an inconvenience every few months. They don’t mean anything. Herebeth might just be one of those dragons who don’t feel the need to chase very often, like Belloth.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Anyway, we’ve more important things to concern us. First two to get to join the Wing properly, eh?’

T’kes and J’rud had been held back a bit longer. T’kes and Neyrenth kept forgetting to scan the rest of the sky while they were concentrating on attacking Thread. They’d only been saved from injury by Tiriorth stepping in to flame a piece of Thread that neither had noticed during the last Fall. Zurinth was still having problems digesting sufficient quantities of firestone. It had depressed J’rud, despite being assured that this often happened to young dragons and that as she chewed firestone more frequently, it would sort itself out. Until then, she wouldn’t be allowed to take her place in the Wing.

‘It’s not fair,’ J’rud said, when they got together before dinner. ‘J’ral got a full place in their Wing after just one Fall and Beylalth doesn’t flame any better than Zurinth, even though he’s a blue.’

That was ‘B’ Wing for you. D’gar remembered B’rol’s untimely death. ‘You should be glad they’re taking our safety more seriously in this Wing. We might even get to live a bit longer than some.’

J’rud evidently got the reference too. ‘It’s just… frustrating. For me and Zurinth. She wants to be able to do her job and she’s not allowed to.’

‘She will, though,’ S’brin added. ‘It’ll just take a bit more time. We’ve got Turns and Turns, after all.’

The following morning they assembled in the Bowl as usual. D’gar’s nervousness had escalated. His hands even shook a little as he fed Herebeth chunks of firestone in preparation. ‘Wish I didn’t feel so nervous,’ he admitted to G’reden, whose Jekkoth was next to them.

‘Try not to worry.’ G’reden ducked under his dragon’s neck. ‘Everyone has to go through this. I was scared silly the first time I was out on my own. But Jekkoth took care of us both.’

‘Trust your dragon, eh?’

‘Exactly. They have a good idea what they need to do. Just let Herebeth get on with it. Jekkoth will keep him informed as we go.’

Jekkoth was to his right in the formation today and green Halerth to his left. It was the classic fighting partnership of a brown flanked by a blue and a green. Both of them had enough experience to make up for any deficiencies on his part.

_We will be fine,_ Herebeth assured him. _I like Halerth,_ he added.

_Not another one._

_Why should I not look at green dragons? You look at their riders often enough, especially in the baths._

He couldn’t argue with that. _Don’t go admiring her when you’re meant to be looking out for Thread._

_As if I would. Jalolth has taught me a lot. The rest, I just know._

Dragons were born with the instinct to fight Thread, just as human babies had the urge to start walking, but in both cases they needed practise to perfect the skill. N’rir had faith in his abilities; he should maybe start to believe in himself a bit more.

As usual, the waiting around was the worst part. Once they’d mounted up, ready for the signal to leave, he felt slightly better. He knew from previous Falls that when they actually started fighting, he’d be fine. He wondered why it was that time seemed to go so fast during a Fall, when the much shorter period beforehand felt as if it lasted forever.

Today they were over Ruatha, starting at the mountains bordering southern Nabol and finishing across the western range. There was plenty of cultivated land to cover; the rich and fertile fields of Ruatha, its crops and orchards, plus the Hold itself. ‘C’ Wing had been on sweep duty today; two pairs had gone out earlier to check the weather conditions and that everyone not on ground crew duties were safely inside. That was a big responsibility. D’gar was glad he’d not be doing that for a while. Imagine if you missed someone and they were eaten by Thread! How bad would you feel?

A few Wings took off before them, then at last, they were away. D’gar had overflown Ruatha quite often and its countryside was familiar, especially close to the Hold. He’d also been to several Gathers there over the Turns, when the banners flew and brightly coloured tents arrayed the flat land around the main Hold. Today, despite warm sunshine, the fields were empty, the Hold’s Threadfall shutters tightly closed. As they flew over the orchards, he spotted the tiny figures of the ground crew, waiting to protect their Lord’s crops.

Just as everyone in the Wing did, prior to a Fall, he kept checking the north eastern sky for the first signs of leading edge. Although there was a repeating pattern to Threadfall and each Weyr knew when it was expected over their area, the actual arrival might be earlier or later than predicted. Some folk said that was due to weather, others that the positions of the two moons affected it. Whatever the reason, it was always the case that the Weyrleader sent his Wings up in good time, so that they weren’t caught out by an early arrival of Thread. Likewise, the Lord Holder took care to ensure all of his people and beasts were under cover well in advance.

The Wing was fully spread out in a half-chevron formation today, with R’feem’s Piroth taking the central position and the two Wingseconds at either end. As they waited, they wheeled in a large circle. Herebeth took care of any changes in speed to keep a proper distance between Jekkoth on his right and Halerth to his left.

_Leading edge is in sight,_ Herebeth informed him. _Crossing the mountains at present._

The mountain passes from Nabol to Ruatha were inhospitable terrain, where falling Thread could do no damage. It withered and died on the rock and scree. It was only where rock gave way to pasture that they needed to begin destroying it. D’gar looked upward to the higher level Wings, eager to spot the first flames as the grey veil of falling Thread swept towards them. It wasn’t long before they were engaged in battle with the voracious parasite themselves. As always, he felt Herebeth’s fierce pride as he breathed fire to shrivel the writhing silver strands to ash. Herebeth kept him informed as to when he - or the other two - would be taking care of a clump. Working together with Jekkoth and Halerth was an education in itself. They were both young dragons, with Jekkoth being particularly quick and nimble and Halerth able to turn on a wingtip. The two had often flown together with D’gar’s predecessor, J’bral, who had been invited to join ‘A’ Wing. He knew he and Herebeth weren’t in the same league, experience-wise.

This was the longest he’d been in the air, fighting Thread. At first, it wasn’t so different to being with N’rir, although he was making his own decisions now. Although his awareness of time passing was marked out only by the changing scenery below and the falling levels in the bags of firestone fastened to each side of Herebeth’s neck, the toll on his body began to make itself felt. By the time an extra bag of firestone was delivered, after around two hours, he almost missed one of the catches due to the ache in his shoulders.

_Do you ache as well?_ he asked Herebeth during a brief lull. Thread was falling patchily today; it came in flurries, like snow. There were periods of frantic activity, followed by nothing to do. It gave him an opportunity to catch his breath and take gulps of water to swill out the taste of ash from his mouth.

_A little. But I am not too tired to fight._

Halerth and B’thun went back to the Weyr shortly after the delivery, although Jekkoth stayed. Greens, being lighter and smaller, rarely flew a full Fall. D’gar wondered if that was as much to do with the aerobatic stunts they pulled while chasing Thread as anything else. He’d have to ask S’brin about that later. She was replaced by Zerlath, who flew in a more flamboyant style to Halerth. A couple of times when she blinked _between_ to dodge Thread, she came back in a slightly different place than D’gar had expected, forcing Herebeth to change speed and position.

As his fatigue grew, he realised he was paying less attention to what was happening around them. It wasn’t until they had a near miss - not seeing a strand of Thread until it was almost close enough to touch - that he was shaken back into a greater sense of alertness. Then, near to the end, as the Western mountain range grew ever closer, Zerlath did one of her flashy moves after some Thread. Herebeth was tired and slower to move out of her way, almost touching wings. Both dragons instinctively dodged, meaning that the Thread continued downward, falling to the lower level. D’gar felt his heart speed up at the near miss and couldn’t mistake the glare H’fra threw at him, even though there had been fault on both sides.

_Are you all right?_ he asked Herebeth.

_Zerlath is unhappy with me. She calls me a clumsy great dragon. She says that Rallorth was a much better flyer._

_It was as much her fault as yours,_ D’gar assured him. He suspected that some more might be said when they landed. He was right. No sooner had they returned to the Weyr than H’fra made his way over.

‘What the hell were you playing at?’

‘I’m sorry if I made a mistake,’ D’gar said, trying to be polite. His feet hurt after sliding down from Herebeth’s neck ridges. Actually his whole body hurt. He certainly didn’t feel in any sort of mood for a confrontation.

‘Shaffing weyrlings,’ H’fra continued in a contemptuous tone. ‘If you carry on like that at least we won’t have to put up with you for very long.’ He stared down at D’gar, trying to be intimidating. He was slightly taller than S’brin, although without the bulk of muscle.

‘I said sorry.’ H’fra was annoying him and he could feel Herebeth was still slightly ruffled by the sharp words from the green dragon. ‘I didn’t know what you were up to, so what did you expect me to do?’

‘Give him a break, H’fra.’ G’reden had ducked under Jekkoth’s neck, having just dismounted. ‘We all had to learn.’

H’fra glared at him. ‘He’s not a patch on J’bral.’

‘Probably why J’bral’s with the Weyrleader now.’ G’reden kept his tone light. ‘None of us were perfect when we started out.’

H’fra made a snorting noise and walked off.

‘Don’t mind him,’ G’reden said. ‘He’s not got over J’bral being tapped for “A” Wing when he wasn’t. If he stopped doing rude impersonations of Mardra it might help his case.’

‘We were tired,’ D’gar said. ‘Herebeth couldn’t dodge fast enough.’

‘All the more reason he should make allowances. I bet you’re exhausted.’

‘Reckon I could just about make it as far as the baths right now.’ He started unfastening Herebeth’s straps, knowing that his dragon would want to swim in the lake to soothe his tired wings.

‘I can remember how that was myself. You’ll sleep like a log tonight. You did fine for a first time.’ G’reden patted his back. ‘Don’t worry yourself about folk like him.’

D’gar met up with S’brin in the baths. He was with some of the other green riders. Thankfully H’fra wasn’t among them, although B’thun, Halerth’s rider was.

‘Good to ride with you today. Not bad for a first time. You’ll be having a drink with us later.’ He said it like an order rather than a suggestion.

‘I don’t usually drink that much.’

‘We’ll soon get you out of that. All wingriders drink. It’s part of the job description.’

‘Yeah, come and sit with the greens tonight,’ S’brin said. ‘It’s more fun down our end of the table.’

‘I, er, upset H’fra.’

B’thun laughed. ‘You and everyone else. He’s touchy these days. But by tonight, he’ll have forgotten about whatever it was.’

After bathing, they went back up to the weyr. S’brin had only done a two hour shift and was still full of energy. ‘We’ve a whole afternoon to ourselves,’ he said, smiling. ‘Good to have our own weyr, isn’t it?’

D’gar just wanted to sleep. He stifled a yawn. ‘I feel as if every dragon in the Weyr has walked all over me.’

‘It wasn’t that bad, surely?’

‘Says the man who’ll never have to ride a full Fall. It was the last hour that did me in.’

‘You need to get fitter, that’s the problem. We’ve not been doing so much training recently.’

‘It’s not so much the physical exertion; it’s all the concentration. G’reden says everyone feels it at first.’

S’brin lay back on the bed next to D’gar, hands behind his head. ‘Did you see that lake today?’

‘Eh?’ He’d not really noticed much about the scenery, except where it changed from pasture to rock.

‘In the mountains, over Ruatha. Beautiful it was. Blue as the sky. Bet no one much goes there. Maybe we could have a day out there, just the two of us?’

‘Sounds like fun.’ D’gar felt himself drifting off into sleep. At various times while he dozed, he heard familiar voices and movement around him. Eventually he woke, feeling somewhat refreshed mentally, although his muscles still ached. S’brin and J’rud were sitting on a long couch he didn’t remember being there before, sharing a cup of wine.

‘Oh, you’ve finally woken up,’ S’brin said, pouring him a cup and bringing it over.

D’gar started to notice other changes to the weyr. A couple of tapestries brightened the stone walls and his feet sank into a soft rug as he sat up. ‘What happened?’

‘J’rud helped me furnish our weyr. Looks great, doesn’t it?’

D’gar accepted the cup and took a sip. It was Tillek red, a little rough around the edges. He looked around, more awake now. The main tapestry was in an old fashioned style and displayed the ballad of Moreta’s ride in a series of panels. The colours were still vivid, but he couldn’t help thinking that maybe it had been put away due to the subject matter. Moreta had undoubtedly been heroic, but she had also died tragically at the end.

S’brin must have seen the doubt on his face. ‘This was the biggest tapestry there was that hadn’t faded or got holes in it.’

‘The quality’s excellent,’ J’rud said, as if he was trying to sell it. ‘Journeyman work, if I’m not mistaken. If you compare it to this other one, you can see the difference.’

The second tapestry was smaller and showed a sea scene. Several boats hauled up nets full of fish while dragons in the sky flamed Thread to keep them safe. D’gar didn’t consider himself an expert, but now that J’rud had mentioned it, he could see what J’rud meant. The proportions were slightly off, the colours not quite as well blended as the Moreta tapestry. It gave it a slightly unreal effect, similar to a dream. ‘What brought this on?’

‘J’rud showed me what he’d done to his weyr,’ S’brin said. ‘And he pointed out that as we’ve got a double, we could have some great parties in here. But to do that, we need things for people to sit on. Look, we got a table too.’ He led D’gar around, showing him what they’d brought. There was a large wooden table, with four carved chairs to match, as well as the couch and two well-stuffed comfortable chairs. The fabric was worn, but they’d draped swathes of green material over it to hide the shiny patches.

‘I like it,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t wake up while you were doing all this.’

‘We tried to be as quiet as we could. The couch was the worst. It’s pretty heavy.’

‘Zurinth helped,’ J’rud said. ‘She doesn’t mind carrying furniture. In fact, I was thinking of offering our services to make a few marks. Some dragons aren’t so careful and tear things up.’

‘Not a bad idea.’

‘We’d be the muscle,’ S’brin said. ‘J’rud’s got the good taste. You and me can lift the stuff in and move it around. We could put away some marks for next summer’s Gathers.’

‘All right, then.’

‘Now, let’s have a couple of drinks here before we go down for dinner.’

By the time they got to the dining hall, D’gar felt pleasantly mellow. The alcohol had numbed his aches somewhat and he certainly felt hungry. This time, he followed S’brin to the green end of the table, keeping a wary eye open for H’fra. He was already there, deep in conversation with a blue rider, but paid no attention to D’gar. Maybe he had forgotten about the near miss, as B’thun had implied.

B’thun was sitting with R’xel and beckoned them all over. ‘Come on. Sit down. Have a drink.’ He set down cups and poured them all full cups of wine.

D’gar tasted it. It was still Tillek, but of a better quality than what they’d had in the weyr. ‘Where did you get this?’

B’thun smiled. ‘Like it? I bought it at the last Gather. Bit better than what they serve up normally, isn’t it?’

‘Definitely smoother.’

‘Cheers.’ He and R’xel touched their cups together. ‘Here’s to surviving another Fall.’

Everyone drank to that. ‘So, how long have you been in the Wing?’ S’brin asked.

‘We’ve both been here for five Turns,’ R’xel said. ‘Same clutch. Your dragons are Kadoth’s too, aren’t they?’

‘That’s right,’ J’rud said.

‘Kadoth’s greens are the best,’ B’thun said. ‘Quick in the air and can turn on a wingtip.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ S’brin said. ‘Valli always compared my Zemianth to a miniature Kadoth.’

‘You knew her?’ B’thun asked, before R’xel gave him a nudge. ‘What’s that for?’

‘They might not want to be reminded.’

B’thun glanced back at S’brin and D’gar, then his face changed as he realised what R’xel was trying to tell him. ‘Oh, it was you two who… Sorry. Shouldn’t have opened my big mouth.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ D’gar said. ‘We’re not ashamed of it. We just helped her do what she wanted to, after all.’

Another green rider arrived, walking with the aid of a crutch. D’gar couldn’t help but notice he’d lost the lower part of his left leg. ‘Did you save me some of that decent Tillek?’ he asked, swinging onto the bench with an ease borne of practise. ‘Oh, sorry, are you the new ones?’

‘Yes. Well, three of us anyway. Not sure where T’kes has got to.’ J’rud glanced toward the door. ‘I’ll get Zurinth to remind him it’s nearly dinner time.’

He turned to D’gar. ‘Is’ish, Panruth’s rider. You’re brave to be drinking with these two.’

‘Oh, why?’

‘They like to see how much new riders can take before they fall over.’

R’xel made a face. ‘Don’t spoil our fun. Anyway, they’re keen enough to have a drink, aren’t you, lads?’

S’brin drained his cup and held it out for a refill. ‘Course we are.’

R’xel poured him some more and handed another to Is’ish. ‘Cheers.’

He lifted it to his mouth, then grinned. ‘Better not get too legless, had I?’

J’rud spluttered into his wine.

Is’ish continued. ‘If I’m not careful I won’t have a leg to stand on.’ He looked at S’brin and D’gar, still smiling. ‘You’re allowed to laugh. It’s supposed to be funny.’

‘They haven’t been exposed to your sense of humour yet.’ R’xel gulped down most of his cupful.

D’gar followed suit. He wasn’t sure how to take Is’ish. Maybe that was just how he dealt with his disability.

Is’ish nudged J’rud. ‘You’re probably my replacement. Although I mean to be in the air again once this has healed well enough. You don’t need a whole leg to ride Fall.’

‘I… I suppose not.’

‘And I’d like to burn a few Threads to get my own back on the bastards.’

‘Let’s drink to that,’ B’thun said, downing his own.

By the time the food was brought out, D’gar was fairly drunk. Once J’rud got over his initial wariness, he began trading quips with Is’ish. It soon became clear they had a similar sense of humour. S’brin matched B’thun every drink and after a while, D’gar lost count of how many times his own cup had been refilled. He wasn’t alone though. Most of ‘C’ Wing drank nearly as much. Riding Zemianth back up to their weyr, he had to hang on to S’brin and they both leaned heavily on each other as they staggered inside.

It was a good job the next day was designated as a rest day. Several riders looked quite fragile over breakfast and D’gar sympathised with them. His own head was pounding and the thought of more wine - or ever drinking again - made him feel queasy. He managed an egg and some dry bread, washed down with several cups of sweet klah, then went back to the weyr to lie down.

_Why is your head all fuzzy today?_ Herebeth asked.

_I drank too much wine._

_Did you know it would affect you so badly?_

_I suppose so._

_Then why drink it at all?_ He sounded puzzled. 

_It was fun at the time._

_I am glad dragons do not drink wine._

_Me too._ He imagined drunk dragons rolling about on their weyr ledges and laughed. It hurt his head. ‘Do you think R’xel will be satisfied now he’s tried to get us both drunk.’ 

‘Tried,’ S’brin groaned. ‘I’d say he succeeded.’ 

‘Do you think they’re as bad as that after every Fall?’ 

He shook his head carefully. ‘No, I reckon that one was for our benefit. Still, now we’re proper members of “C” Wing.’ 

‘With the hangovers to prove it.’ D’gar shut his eyes again. ‘Glad the next Fall’s not for two days. Gives us a chance to recover.’ 


End file.
